


The Audience is Watching

by Beautiful_Doom



Series: Strays [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Comfort, Family, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Swearing, no ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 79
Words: 86,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Doom/pseuds/Beautiful_Doom
Summary: Sequel to Picking Up Strays. I highly recommend reading that one first.Author has been granted his second chance at life, but he didn't want it in the first place. Still tormented by the eyes of The Audience, he must find a way to work through his own feelings of helplessness and decide if he's truly as helpless as he seems... or if there is a chance to change his life for the better.But when a powerful and deadly new ego shows up, the families will need to come together if they want to survive. Even if it means relying on the darker egos...(tags will be added as needed)
Series: Strays [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108574
Comments: 1204
Kudos: 138





	1. The Dinner and the Painting

“I can do this.”

“Yes you can.”

“I... I can do this!”

“I’m right here with you!”

“I...I...I can’t do this!”

Madpat turned around and tried to walk away, but Shawn grabbed his elbow and tugged him back.

“Hey!” He said. “Come on, you wanted to meet him and he set up this whole dinner with him and Stephanie so that you could. He even let me come with you because he understands how intimidating it can be to meet someone like this.”

“Oh yes, intimidating it just the word to describe meeting your creator,” Madpat said. “I’d love to ask him how he’d feel if he went to meet God. And anyway, this... I just... what do I even say? ‘Hi, I’m Madpat and I used to torture people for fun’.”

“You don’t have to talk about that,” said Shawn. “We can just sort of skim over that part. Just say you sort of wandered around a bit before you met me and Annus and then we can skip right to where you moved in with Dark and the others.”

Madpat sighed and glanced past Shawn at the townhouse that Matt and Stephanie lived in. On the one hand he really was excited to meet Matt. He’d wanted to at least let his creator know about his existence and have a talk with him now that he was no longer angry and had an actual identity for himself. But on the other hand, he felt... unworthy. Matthew Patrick was a great guy, and the fact that Madpat had a shady past and didn’t feel as if any part of him came from Matt made him feel lesser.

“Stop beating yourself up,” Shawn said as if he could read Madpat’s mind. “This will be good for you. You can get your closure, and I bet Matt’s gonna really like you. Plus I hear that Stephanie is a total sweetheart and has the same sort of dry sense of humor that you do. I bet you’ll make a good bond with them both.”

“And their son?” Madpat nervously asked.

“Let’s just focus on them for now,” Shawn said. He brushed a bit of dirt from Madpat’s leather jacket and gave a satisfied nod. “Still wondering why you were so insistent on bringing flowers...”

“It’s polite to bring a gift when you visit someone’s home for the first time,” said Madpat. ”Especially when invited to a dinner too. You should listen to Jameson more. He gave me a few ideas and flowers seemed to be the best choice.”

“But you didn’t have to wear a fancy button up,” said Shawn. “They said it was casual, and if you wear clothes like that, it’ll make things feel awkward...”

“Hmm...” Madpat looked down at his button up and thought for a moment. “I did bring a back up shirt, and I think I need it more than ever. Hold this real quick.”

He passed the flowers over to Shawn and ducked into an alley to change his shirt. Shawn took a moment to smell the flowers and make sure there were none that were wilted.

“Ok,” Madpat said as he came back. “I’m ready.”

Shawn looked at him, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. Madpat had changed into the Unus Annus shirt that he had been recently gifted. He’d worn a few times before now, and he’d mentioned how wearing it made him feel better. It made him feel as if he had over four million people standing at his back and ready to support him if needed.

“You’re such a dork,” Shawn shook his head.

“Love your shirt!” A girl said as she walked by.

 _“Memento Mori!”_ said her friend.

They both started to chant _‘Unus Annus’_ as they walked off down the street. Shawn chuckled.

“Hard to believe the community is still thriving even after the channel died,” he said.

“They were there,” said Madpat. “At The End. They both smashed some pizza into The Actor’s hair.”

“Wow, really?” Shawn asked, looking back at them. “Small world. Anyway, let’s go. You have a dinner date that we will be late to if you don’t hurry...”

Madpat took another deep breath and slowly let it out. Steeling himself, he walked forward with Shawn at his side and up to the door. Shawn quickly rang the doorbell before Madpat could lose his nerve. Madpat smoothed his hair back as they waited.

The door finally opened, revealing Stephanie. Her eyes went wide for a moment and then a radiant smile bloomed over her face.

“Madpat?” She asked.

“Um, yeah,” Madpat nervously smiled. “That’s me.”

“Sorry,” Stephanie chuckled. “It’s just weird seeing you out here when I just left Matt in the living room. You two look just alike.”

“Curse of being an ego,” Shawn took off his hat and smiled. “I’m Shawn. Matt and I spoke a few times before this. I’m Hatter’s emotional support Irishman.”

Stephanie laughed and opened the door wider.

“Come on in,” she said. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Um, these are for you,” Madpat handed the flowers off as he entered the house. Stephanie took them with a smile and a thanks. Madpat couldn’t help but relax a bit. Stephanie seemed really sweet.

**ELSEWHERE**

“Marvin!” Chase called as he ran through the house. _“Marvin!”_

He found the magician in the kitchen, helping Jameson cook dinner.

“What is it?” Marvin asked.

“Dude! Dude! Bro, bro, bro! _Dude! Bro!”_ Chase was extremely excited over something, waving his phone around. Marvin patiently waited for him to calm down.

“Use your words,” he said gently.

“Ok! Ok! _So!_ There’s this guy that I watch on youtube,” Chase said. “His thing is he sneaks into these really fancy art galleries that have like memberships and aren’t open to the public except through invitation. He shows off the artwork inside. His latest video was of some gallery in France, and... just look!”

He held his phone up, showing a slightly blurry picture of a painting. The painting itself looked like some kind of abstract piece, a mix of blue and green and black and white, but if you really looked at it...

“Wait...” said Marvin. “That’s... that’s Sam! Septiceye Sam! I mean in a weird abstract way...”

“You see it too!” Chase smiled. “This isn’t fanart, this is art that is hanging in a snooty gallery! You don’t think... maybe it’s another of Sean’s egos?”

“I dunno,” Marvin mused. “Did Sean have an artsy ego?”

“It’s worth a look, though,” said Chase. “Right? I mean, what if it is another ego?”

“But... how do we find them?” Marvin asked. “Does it say who painted it?”

“Nope,” Chase shook his head. “Only way to find out is to get into the gallery. But you need an invitation for that.”

“Well I can make a fake invitation,” said Marvin. “It wouldn’t be hard.”

“No, no, no,” Chase chuckled. “This is a _snooty_ gallery. They wouldn’t believe that invitation is real for a minute. We don’t look like rich people. And if we really want to not have any trouble, we’ll have to look intimidating as well as rich. You know, someone tall and looks like they could kill you with one hit.”

**Pardon me.**

Marvin and Chase looked over to see Jameson smiling at them.

**I believe Patcher fits that description well enough. Anti and I can fuse and get into the gallery. I know about proper etiquette and how people of high standing act. Patcher should be able to blend in seamlessly. Marvin, you can pose as his assistant. It will help for when Patcher needs to have his signing translated, and if he needs any of your magic.**

Marvin mused it all over with a hum.

“I guess it’s as good a plan as we can come up with,” he finally said. “Fine. We’ll head over and see who painted that. If it was an ego, we’ll see if we can’t track them down. If it wasn’t... then we’ll just grab a few cocktail shrimp on the way out...”

**ELSEWHERE**

**“Oh, so you’re back. I didn’t expect to see you again. Come to laugh at me? Mock me? Taunt me? Just leave me alone. Life is hard enough without you watching me all the time...”**


	2. The French Painter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glad to see the old crowd is back to stick around for another long one. I hope I can make this one just as much a masterpiece as the other one was...

_Please make sure you pay attention,_ Patcher signed as they approached the gallery. _I will not be able to use my text boxes here._

“Don’t worry,” Marvin smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

Marvin was wearing a stylish white turtleneck under a grey suit jacket and matching slacks. He'd tied his hair back in an elegant manbun and donned a pair of glasses, he was also carrying a tablet that he would periodically tap at as if he were doing something important on it. He looked every bit the snooty assistant he was supposed to be acting like.

Patcher, on the other hand, had forgone his Edwardian style jacket to wear something more modern. He was wearing a black suit with a matching vest and blood red shirt. His hair was smoothed back, and he’d used a bit of Marvin’s eyeliner to accentuate his eyes. He was also wearing a very expensive looking Rolex that Marvin had conjured for him.

He was drawing his share of stares from the people around him, some looked intimidated, some looked... well... let’s say they were wondering what was under his dark suit...

“Invitation?” The man at the door asked.

Patcher didn’t move a muscle, giving the man a hard stare. The man swallowed nervously as he took the (fake) invitation from Marvin.

“Mr. Jackson requests that someone show him around,” Marvin said in a tone that left no room for argument. “He is interested in buying something from this gallery.”

“Oh, an interested buyer?” the man’s eyes widened. “Of course! If Mr. Jackson would not mind waiting...”

“Hurry up,” Marvin snapped. “Mr. Jackson does not like to be kept waiting for long.”

Marvin stifled a grin. He was having quite a bit of fun in this role. He did enjoy acting, even if he preferred to be on a stage with people watching his magic tricks. A quick glance at patcher told him that the fusion was having fun too.

There was a scramble as someone was finally found and brought to the door.

“Good evening,” the man said with a slight accent. “My name is Etienne. I understand that you are interested in purchasing a piece of artwork?”

“Mr. Jackson?” Marvin asked Patcher.

Patcher gave the worker an icy look and curled his lip. He gave a dismissive gesture and Marvin adjusted his glasses with an air of self importance.

“You’ll suffice,” he said. “Mr. Jackson is interested in purchasing something for his collection. If he is not impressed, he will walk out the door and you will never see him again. I pray that you have something that he will like.”

“O-Of course!” Etienne said. “Right this way, please.”

Marvin kept his face neutral as he and Patcher waded through the crowd of people. Everyone there was dressed to the nines, sipping champagne, eating little finger foods, and crowing about symbolism and painting techniques. Some gave Marvin a look as if he were nothing more than dirt under their expensive shoes, but a glare from Patcher had them quickly look away.

“How about this?” Etienne stopped in front of a painting that looked like some kind of picture of many different faces and pairs of eyes. “It’s called ‘The Gaze of the Viewers’. It’s meant to make one feel as if _they_ are the art on display. It’s a fairly popular piece...”

Patcher stepped forward. One hand was tucked under his chin, the other was folded behind his back. He gave the painting a good look for a minute or two, tilting his head this way and that. He then signed something to Marvin.

“Mr. Jackson feels insulted,” said Marvin. “He wants to see something more... _avant garde._ Something that titillates the senses and engages the mind. This painting does none of that and he does not like it. Shall he take his money elsewhere?”

“No! No, please... I have more that I can show you. This way...” Etienne gestured for them to follow again.

They were shown more paintings, but not the one they were looking for. Some paintings were actually pretty good, and Patcher ended up buying one when he noticed how much Marvin liked it. As the night went on, Marvin began to lose hope, afraid that the painting had been sold already.

“Mr. Jackson was told by a friend of his that there is an abstract painting here that is green, blue, black, and white,” he finally tried a different tactic. “He is interested in viewing it.”

“An abstract...” Etienne’s eyes widened. “Oh! Yes, I think I know the painting he is talking about. Right this way, please...”

He took them to another painting and Marvin nearly collapsed in relief when he saw it was the very painting they were looking for. He glanced at Patcher, who winked at him. They would get the information they needed.

“This painting was created by a very talented artist who only recently joined the field of art,” Etienne explained. “It’s called ‘All the Way’. It has drawn quite a crowd.”

Patcher once again made a show of looking at the painting. He then stepped back and signed something to Marvin.

“Yes, this is the painting that Mr. Jackson was looking for,” Marvin nodded. “He would like to purchase it. And he is curious as to the name of the artist.”

“Oh...” Etienne looked nervous. “I am afraid that this artist prefers to remain anonymous.”

Patcher gave him a look and then began to fuss with his handkerchief.

“Of course,” Marvin said. “Mr. Jackson understands that this puts you in a very difficult position. He would never ask you to betray someone’s trust like that...”

Patcher handed the handkerchief over, and Etienne took it. He saw quite a few bills poking out of the fabric, and he made a choked sound.

“Ah... well...” he palmed the money and slipped it into his pocket. He then looked around and cleared his throat. “The painter is based here,” he said softly. “Goes by the name of Jacques Septique.”

“Jacque Septique,” Marvin took the handkerchief back. “Mr. Jackson thanks you for your cooperation. You have his details from the last purchase, please have this one sent to the same address- _ow!”_

A man in an expensive suit bumped into Marvin, elbowing him hard in the side. Marvin stepped away, nearly dropping the binder he’d been carrying. The man ended up spilling his drink down his front, and he fixed Marvin with an angry look.

“You little piece of-” He raised his hand as if to slap Marvin across the face.

Patcher reached forward and grabbed the man’s wrist, lifting him into the air. Marvin stared between the too, suddenly aware that everyone in the room was now watching them. He silently began to pray that they didn’t get kicked out for this...

Patcher tilted his head, glaring at the man he was holding.

“Do you... have a problem with my assistant?” he asked.

Marvin gasped, eyes going wide. He had no idea that Patcher could speak. Patcher had never spoken before. And his voice... his voice was deep and raspy, almost like a growl.

“I-I... no!” The man shook his head. “No, I’m s-sorry.”

“Then I suggest you leave...” Patcher said. “Or you will regret it...”

He set the man back down, and the man rushed from the room. Marvin turned his wide eyes to Patcher, but Patcher just adjusted his suit cuffs and signed something else.

Marvin quickly fell back into his role.

“Send the painting to the same address as the other one,” he said to Etienne.

Later, as they were leaving, Marvin looked at Patcher curiously.

“You can speak?” he asked. “I didn’t know that you can speak.”

Patcher sighed.

 _I can speak,_ he signed. _But between Jameson’s muteness and Anti’s slit throat, it hurts for me to speak. So I prefer to sign or use my boxes instead._

“Oh,” Marvin said. “Sorry about that. I was just so surprised...”

Patcher huffed a chuckle and then turned serious.

 _Jacques Septique,_ he signed. _How do we find him?_

“Hmm...” Marvin thought about it. “It doesn’t sound like a common name. Jackie’s pretty handy at finding people, we could ask him. Worst come to worst, we can ask Blank for help.”

Patcher nodded.

“Hey, while we’re here...” Marvin said slowly. “Think we can get some crepes?”

Patcher huffed another laugh.

 _I’d love some,_ he signed with a smile.

**ELSEWHERE**

**“Your apologies are appreciated, but I would prefer your absence. Leave me be. You’ve done enough damage. This story is not for you to read...”**


	3. The New Name

**“I suppose there’s no avoiding it,”** he sighed. **“I wonder if this is how the lions in the zoo feel. Magnificent creatures stripped of their dignity and power. Forced to be gawked at by a mass of simpletons. Have you ever considered... perhaps you are being watched too? Perhaps you also have an audience, but you cannot see them like I can see you...”**

He shook his head and turned away from his mirror.

 **“If you’re still here... if you still want to continue... then I cannot stop you...”** he said.

He heard the key turn in the lock on his door, and it opened to reveal Wilford Warfstache. Wilford glanced to the side and winked, flashing another heart sign with his hands. He quickly stopped and cleared his throat.

“Breakfast is ready,” he said. “Have you figured out what you want us to call you?”

“Nobody,” the other ego said.

“Nobody?” Wilford raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Nobody. “Because that is who I am. Nobody. I am nobody without my talents...”

“Well that’s not a very good attitude to have,” Wilford said. “You’re going to bum everyone out.”

“The egos in this house can sit on a rusty spike for all I care,” Nobody said as he walked past Wilford to leave his room.

“I wasn’t talking about _them,”_ Wilford muttered as he followed.

It was still a bit early, so most of the egos were still asleep. Wilford glanced over to see Security Mark and Security Nate registering a few new egos. One was wearing a crown and a red plaid shirt and the other was also wearing a security guard uniform. Good, the current guards were saying they could use more help...

“So what’s on the menu today?” Wilford asked as they entered the kitchen. A man in an apron and chef's hat was at the stove making French toast. He smiled and placed a tall stack on the table for Wilford and Nobody to help themselves.

“Thanks Chefiplier,” Wilford said. “This looks delicious.”

“I’m not hungry,” Nobody said, sitting back in his chair.

“You said that during dinner last night,” Wilford said. “You can’t keep starving yourself. Dr. Iplier is already about to pull his hair out over you not eating.”

“I’m not hungry,” Nobody repeated.

“If I have to make you sit here until you eat, I will,” said Wilford.

“Hope you have nothing else to do today,” Nobody shrugged.

_“We’re waiting every night to finally roam and invite newcomers to play with us, for many years we’ve been all alone...”_

Wilford looked up to see Dawktrap yawn and continue to hum his song as he entered the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow FNAF Show shirt and a pair of fluffy purple pajama pants. A Freddy plush dangled from his hand, and his hair was a mess.

“Morning, Dawktrap,” Wilford greeted him.

“Mornin’,” Dawktrap yawned again as he began to fill the kettle.

“You do know we have a Keurig, right?” Chefiplier said. “You don’t have to use a kettle.”

Dawktrap gave Chefiplier a look that barely hid how offended he was.

“Americans...” Dawktrap muttered as he shook his head. “No pride in their tea...”

“This is a delicate situation,” Host said to Dark. “Author has chosen the new name ‘Nobody’. He is in a deep depressive state and if Darkiplier is not careful, any attempts to help Nobody will be met with defensiveness. Darkiplier will need to find an ego to help Nobody.”

“Mark never bothered to create a therapist,” Dark sighed. “Nor did Jack or Nathan.”

“No,” Host agreed. “but Thomas Sanders did. He created a character named Emile Picani. Emile is a very accomplished therapist if a bit... unconventional. The Host believes that Emile will be able to help Nobody.”

“Did he really choose that as his name?” Dark growled. “Out of literally anything else?”

“Nobody feels that he is nobody because his talents and powers were taken from him by Remus Sanders,” said The Host. “He chose the name because he could think of no other name to call himself by. He is... in a very fragile state. He does not want to live anymore and he regrets the choice that was made about him living or dying.”

“Mark made it clear that we’re to help him,” said Dark. “He doesn’t want him dying, you know Mark has a bleeding heart...”

“Then Darkiplier should speak to Emile,” said Host. “The sooner Nobody’s therapy begins, the better...”

**ELSEWHERE**

“Jacques Septique?” Jackie said. “So there are even _more_ of us out there?”

“Apparently so,” Marvin said as he chewed on his crepe, holding his phone with his other hand. “I need you to see if you can find us an address. The guy said he lives around here somewhere.”

“I can try,” said Jackie. “But I dunno French, so it’ll be tricky.”

“If you can’t then don’t worry,” said Marvin. “I’ll speak to Blank about it if we need to.”

“I at least want to try,” Jackie said. “So all we know is that he lives in France and is an artist? Not much to go on, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks Jackie,” Marvin smiled. “Keep us updated.”

He ended his call and pocketed his phone.

“So what did heroboy have to say?” Anti asked, slouching in his seat with his elbows on the table.

“It’ll be tricky,” said Marvin. “But Jackie’s gonna try. In the meantime, we can either stay here and look around ourselves or go back home.”

 _Maybe Jacques has art displayed in other galleries,_ Jameson signed. _We could look around a bit more as Patcher._

“I’m up for it,” Anti grinned. “Maybe next time Patcher will get into a real fight. It’s so satisfying seeing those pompous assholes sweat in fear...”

 _Anti, be nice,_ Jameson signed. _We shouldn’t be so violent._

“You’re telling me you never wanted to just punch those high society types in the face?” Anti raised an eyebrow.

Jameson blushed slightly and suddenly became too busy cutting his crepe to sign back to him.

“This calls back to the lesson on how it’s ok to be angry,” said Anti. “It’s ok to want to be violent. It’s natural. It’s _human._ Yeesh, a virus is giving you lessons on how to be human...”

“Anti, stop corrupting him,” Marvin frowned. “If he doesn’t want to punch people then he doesn’t want to.”

“He still hasn’t _said_ that he doesn’t want to,” Anti grinned. “And he only has so much food to cut before he’s free to sign again...”

Jameson glanced at his plate and realized that Anti was right. In a fit of panic, he moved his hands down and pressed them under his thighs. Anti laughed loudly as Jameson blushed even darker.


	4. The Other Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly filler. Should be more plot in the next chapter.

Marvin answered his phone with a slight groan. The time difference between France and Ireland wasn’t bad at all, but he and the others had been up late checking out the night clubs that France had to offer, and Marvin was still sleepy.

“Hello?” He yawned.

_“DUDE!”_

Marvin yanked the phone away from his ear as Chase and Jackie’s excited voices came over the line. He dug in his ear with a frown and glanced at the phone, carefully putting it closer to his ear.

“Chase? Jackie?” He asked.

“Bro!” This time it was just Jackie. “We found another painting!”

“Another one?” Marvin sat up and glanced around the hotel room they’d crashed at. Jameson’s text slide was hovering over the other bed and Anti was snoring on the very comfortable couch, an open box of pineapple pizza sitting on the coffee table next to him.

“Yeah!” Chase was back. “And man... this one... I can’t even describe it. I’m sending you a picture now.”

Marvin yawned again as he looked at his phone and opened the new text message. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the picture. The painting was of a jack o lantern that had a knife sticking out of it. Blood stained the pumpkin and knife, and a pair of malicious glowing green eyes hovered over it. If Marvin looked closely, he could see the faint outline of someone slumped over on the table that held the pumpkin.

“Marvin?” Jackie asked. “You there, bro?”

“Holy...” Marvin put the phone back to his ear. “Is he being serious? This doesn’t look like art a snooty gallery would display. I imagine there’d be a lot of pearl clutching over it...”

“That’s not the worst of it,” said Jackie. “The name of the painting is ‘Say Goodbye’.”

“And that’s the thing,” Chase said. “It’s not some snooty gallery. It’s some underground rebel goth thing. Something more like Anti’s scene...”

“Oh,” Marvin said. “So... use Anti as a guide for our disguises?”

“Yeah, your goal is going to be to look like Natemare and Anti’s love child,” said Jackie. “Just full on goth rocker chic.”

“Please never use the phrase ‘Natemare and Anti’s love child’ again,” Marvin gagged. “Anyway, send us the information and I’ll see what we can do. Still no word on our painter?”

“It’s like the guy doesn’t even exist,” Jackie said. “Which... I guess is technically true... but there are no records anywhere! I’ve combed every public sight I can find. I’ll have to start looking elsewhere, but I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Great. I guess we’ll go check out this other place in the meantime,” Marvin said. “We’ll call you later and let you know how it goes...”

“Keep in touch, bro,” said Chase. “Call us if you need anything...”

Marvin ended the call and yawned again. He looked around the room again and then slowly got out of bed. He swore he was going to steal this bed, it was so comfortable...

He conjured a barrier to soundproof the room and then conjure a pot and a wooden spoon.

“Wakey wakey!” He began beating the pot and spoon together. “Time to rise and shine, boys!”

Jameson flailed and promptly rolled out of the bed, hitting the floor with a thud. Anti just gave Marvin a long suffering look, not even bothering to move from his position on the couch. When Marvin was satisfied, he vanished the pot and spoon, grinning at his brothers.

“You’re a dick, Marvin,” Anti said.

 **Why?!** Jameson stood up, hands over his ears. **My ears will be ringing all day now...**

“Check it out,” Marvin held out his phone. “There are other paintings.”

Anti stood up and squinted at the phone. Jameson did the same, tilting his head curiously.

Anti then got a very angry look on his face.

“Hell. _No.”_ he said. “He does not get to do shite like this. This ego is now my enemy...”

“Why?” Marvin asked while Jameson took the phone for a better look.

“He wants to paint Sam, that’s fine...” said Anti. “But he does not get to paint _me_ like this. I’m stabbing him when we find him...”

“Anti-” Marvin started.

“No!” Anti growled. “He can paint whatever the hell he wants, but paintings like this go too far.”

 **I’m inclined to agree,** Jameson nodded. **Not... about the stabbing part, but such private moments should not be on display like this. Let’s buy this one too.**

“And then we can burn it when we get home,” Anti frowned.

 **Can we roast marshmallows over it?** Jameson looked hopeful.

“Hang on, we’re not burning it...” Marvin sighed. “Never mind, we’ll talk about it later. Chase said this gallery is some kind of underground punk goth place. We’ll need to dress accordingly if we want to get in.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Anti shrugged. “It’ll be interesting to see Patcher dressed like that.”

 **Ripped clothes,** Jameson shook his head. **I wore plenty of them after the market collapsed. I was hoping I’d never have to wear ripped clothes again...**

“Technically, you won’t be wearing them,” said Anti. “So it’ll be fine.”

 **I suppose,** Jameson was still frowning.

**ELSEWHERE**

“How bad is it?” Dark asked.

“Pretty bad,” Wilford said as he carefully scrubbed at his mustache with a bright pink handkerchief. He looked up from his hand mirror and frowned. “He’s not eating much, and he’s probably sleeping even less. At this point, he’s practically killing himself.”

Dark sighed, running a hand down his face.

“What do you suggest?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Wilford shrugged. “You can lead a raccoon to the trashcan, but you can’t make it eat. Nobody has to want to change. He has to want to be helped. He needs... someone in his corner. Someone who can relate to what he’s going through. Or at least someone who can understand.”

“So Emile is out,” Dark frowned.

“No!” Wilford vanished his hand mirror. “I think Emile is perfect for the job. Sure he may seem a bit naïve, but... he’s actually very knowledgeable. I’ve been talking to him myself. He just... has this very chill vibe about him, as the kids say these days. Very Zen. Like... what do the kids call ‘em... a capybara!”

Dark blinked.

“Host recommended Emile, and Host hasn’t steered me wrong yet,” he said. “If you’re vouching for him too... then I suppose we’ll have to get them together and try. But... I honestly think Nobody’s a lost cause at this point...”

“Don’t give up on him yet,” said Wilford. “You never gave up on me, so you should give him the same courtesy. Besides... **there are others out there who believe in him...”**


	5. The First Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd give you guys The Author's backstory...

“Hey Boss!”

Dark looked up as a few egos entered his office. It was the Security egos and... a new one. Normally Dark would be annoyed at being interrupted, but he did have a certain fondness for the Security egos. They did their job well and he never had to worry about them.

“What can I do for you?” He asked, looking between them.

“This is Dave,” Security Nate gestured at the new ego. “He’s a security guard too. He was needing shelter, but he’s also offering his services. We wanted to run it by you first.”

Ah yes, and the Security egos understood that Dark was the head of the household. Another reason why he liked them...

Dark looked at the new ego and narrowed his eyes slightly.

“What’s your special power?” he asked.

“I don’t need to sleep,” Dave shrugged. “I can if I want to, but my body and mind don’t need it.”

“Yes!” Security Nate and Mark began to cheer.

“He can work the night shift,” said Security Mark. “We’ve been trying to divide it between us, but it’s exhausting when you have to work the day shift too. This is perfect.”

“Can anyone vouch for him?” Dark asked.

The egos fell silent, nervously glancing at each other.

“Well... no,” Security Nate admitted. “No one here knows him.”

“Hmm...” Dark narrowed his eyes further. His red and blue outlines started flaring again as if arguing. “Keep an eye on him,” he finally said. “Show him the ropes. And Dave... let me know if you have any questions or concerns. My door is always open for matters of security.”

Security Nate and Mark cheered again, high fiving each other.

“Thanks,” Dave smiled. “I won’t let you down...”

“I’m not saying a damn thing,” Nobody said, folding his arms. “And you can’t make me.”

“No, I can’t,” Emile agreed, making notes in his notepad. “So I’ll do the talking for now..."

Nobody rolled his eyes and said nothing. He was done with everyone and everything. He was done with the egos, he was done with his life, and he was done with The Audience. He purposefully turned his face away from their prying eyes and kept it there. He wouldn’t acknowledge them. Just ignore them. They would lose interest in him when the story picked up...

“Psychological trauma can be very difficult to deal with,” said Emile. “Examining your symptoms and recent events makes it a very clear diagnosis. The problem is that it can have devastating long term effects. It can also serve as a spring board for other disorders to develop. One of the long term effects is something called emotional exhaustion. Emotional exhaustion can be described as feeling burned out, and the severity can vary depending on a few different factors. Symptoms can include trouble sleeping, loss of motivation, irritability, apathy, and feeling as if you have no control over your life.”

Nobody stayed silent, only half listening to Emile’s words. He was letting himself fall deeper into the numb abyss that he often found himself in. He could... he could almost imagine a story in this state. A nice story for him to escape to. He could no longer write his stories down, but... nothing could take his creativity from him. He could still make stories even if he had no characters to play with...

“Another thing that can happen is emotional detachment,” Emile continued. “There can also be periods of disassociation...”

Emile noticed the glazed look that was overcoming Nobody’s eyes. It was exactly what he thought. It was exactly what he was describing. Emile set his notepad down...

Nobody wasn’t here right now. He was back at his cabin in the woods. He was back among his books and his writings. He was back in his safe spot, away from The Audience. Back where he still felt as if he had any sort of control.

He remembered the sounds of the forest. The birds, the insects, the wind in the trees. He remembered the wildlife. The deer that he would leave food out for. The rabbits that would hide under the porch when it got too cold. He remembered a time when he was at peace...

And then one day... he saw _them._ One day, he knew. One day, everything fell apart...

That was the turning point. When he came to this world and he discovered that he was nothing more than a character in someone’s story. The Audience was always watching, there was no way to hide from them! He wanted nothing more than to break free from the control he was under. He wanted to get away from The Audience.

He experimented. He experimented over and over, awakening the blood lust he had once conquered. Slipping back into the role that he had been given by his creator. Sacrifices. Everyone had to make them. And the Actor had certainly ensnared him in a web of false promises. By the time he’d realized how trapped he was, it was too late...

And now look at him. His talents taken from him, no friends or family, no life worth living. He may as well have died. He felt like he had. He mostly felt dead these days...

“Excuse me.”

Nobody flinched and suddenly came back to himself. Emile was now standing in front of him, looking concerned.

“Did you drift away?” Emile asked. “Are you back now?”

“Don’t touch me!” Nobody snapped.

Emile held his hands out, showing that he would not touch him. Emile then went back to the chair he’d been sitting in, taking up his notepad again.

“I’ve been talking for a while,” he said. “Maybe you would like to say something now?”

“What should I say?” Nobody was angry that someone had brought him back to reality. “You can’t possibly understand what the problem is. You never will! You don’t know what it’s like to know the things I do! Knowing that my life is nothing more than a story for someone else’s amusement. I had the chance to die, and I depended on _their_ sense of mercy, but they all spat in my face! _They_ chose to let me live!”

“Who are you talking about?” Emile asked. “Who made the choice?”

“Them!” Nobody pointed. “The Audience! The ones who are reading this right now!”

“Oh!” Emile made a note. “Oh, I am so sorry. I had no idea. You see, I know them by a different name.”

Nobody froze, feeling as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice over him.

“I-I... what?” He said. “What do you mean?”

“I know them as The Viewers,” said Emile. “I can’t see them like you can, but I am aware of them. I was always meant to speak to them. Speak to them through the characters in my office. Offer them guidance and understanding. The Viewers...”

He then smiled warmly.

**“I hope you’re all taking care of yourselves these days...”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all the Dave fans, I am still finishing up The Edge of Sleep. When I'm done, I'll see how much I use him. XD


	6. The Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finished The Edge of Sleep, and... *chef's kiss*  
> Markimoo is an amazing actor. I'll be using Dave some more. I have a few ideas for him.  
> Warnings for blood and eye trauma.

“It’s a shirt.”

**It’s _half_ a shirt!**

“Well, it’s what they wear...”

Patcher grimaced at his exposed midriff. The black long sleeved shirt he was wearing didn’t even go down to his waist. The pants he was wearing had sections of bright green plaid and were torn at the knees. They were also very tight, easily able to be tucked into his platform boots that made him even taller.

“Just wear your jacket too if it will help you feel better,” Marvin shrugged. “Edwardian stuff is part of their style too...”

Patcher gratefully conjured his jacket and slid it on. It did help him feel a bit better. He glanced at Marvin’s outfit. Marvin’s black shirt didn’t expose his stomach, but the long sleeves were nothing but stylishly woven string. His pants were made of black leather and covered in chains and buckles.

Marvin left his hair down, enchanting the green in it to brighten until it was almost neon. They both had their gauges in and wore black eyeliner and eyeshadow to help them blend in better. Marvin’s makeup was a bit on the rough side while Patcher’s was pure elegance.

“Ok...” Marvin checked their looks in the mirror. “Let’s go.”

The gallery... was quite literally underground. An old morgue that had been repurposed into an art gallery, but it still had a few things left over from its previous purpose. Marvin handed his invitation to a man that wore a black plague doctor’s mask.

“Who do we speak to if we want to buy something?” He asked, talking loudly to be heard over the loud rock music.

The man wordlessly pointed to a woman who sat on a gurney and was holding a glass of what Marvin hoped was wine. He made his way over to her and greeted the woman.

“My employer is interested in purchasing a painting,” he said.

The woman fixed them with a look from her heavily outlined eyes and set her glass aside.

“We don’t take cash,” she grinned. “Or any other kind of money. You want a painting... you have to fight for it.”

“Fight for it?” Marvin’s eyes widened.

“If art is good enough, it should be fought for,” the woman continued. “Artists gave their blood and sweat to paint it, you should give yours back as an equal trade. Only then can you truly enjoy the painting.”

Marvin glanced up at Patcher. Patcher grinned and nodded at Marvin, punching his fist into an open palm. He had Anti’s ferocity and Jameson’s boxing skills under his belt, he could go a few rounds.

“Very well,” Marvin finally said. “Where do we fight?”

**ELSEWHERE**

“You... you know about them?” Nobody asked. “You really know?”

“Not in the same way that you do,” said Emile. “I am aware of their presence, but I do not see them. Are they... are they here now?”

“They’re always here,” said Nobody. “Always. And you can’t hear them either? You can’t hear what they say?”

Emile shook his head, looking confused.

“I didn’t know it was possible to,” he said. “So you can see _and_ hear them?”

“How the hell... do you know about them... but can’t see or hear them?” Nobody asked, looking shocked. _“How?!”_

“I couldn’t say,” Emile shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’m different. I was _meant_ to be different. I was only meant to speak to them, not hear them in return. But, at least I have an idea of what you’re talking about. It does help me understand things better. But why do you see this as such a bad thing?”

“You don’t think it’s bad to be constantly watched and judged?” Nobody asked. “They judge me for what I’ve done. Some of them didn’t even want to give me this damn second chance. They wanted to kill me, and I had hoped that they would be the ones to win out, but I was cheated out of my mercy instead!”

“Why do you consider death to be your mercy?” Emile asked.

“Because what kind of life can I live if I can’t write?!” Nobody snapped. “I was The Author. I was meant to write! I can’t now because that ability was taken from me. I can barely even read too! That psycho took my abilities from me!”

“So that’s where this is all stemming from,” said Emile. “An identity crisis.”

Nobody was really starting to dislike Emile. He spoke as if he knew. Nobody had hoped he _would_ know. He'd hoped that someone else would know what he went through. The Actor had known, but he’d acted differently with it. He’d preened at the attention and loved it. He’d loved the idea of having a captive audience to watch him all the time. He’d often spoken about how useful they could be if you knew how to manipulate them...

But Emile had no idea, it seemed. Had no _real_ idea. And yet... he was hitting each nail on the head. Yes, Nobody was having a major identity crisis, but it wasn’t his fault. How else was he supposed to feel?

“Remus took your abilities and now you feel as if you are not the man you once were,” Emile continued. “You feel as if you can’t be The Author if you cannot write. But you can still create stories without writing. You still have your creativity, do you not?”

“I was literally created to write!” Nobody protested. “That was the whole plot of the video! Everything I wrote came true and I used that ability to torture and kill people. That was my character.”

“So you feel that you have to maintain your creator’s narrative,” said Emile. “You feel that you have to be the character that was created and can no longer be that character now...”

Nobody frowned.

“You feel trapped,” said Emile. “You feel useless. You feel helpless...”

Nobody visibly shuddered. Emile was looking at him in a way that made him feel as if Emile could see right through him. As if Emile could see everything he felt and feared and thought. He didn’t like it. He wanted it to stop.

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” he finally said. “You don’t know me at all. You can’t possibly understand! You think you can see what’s wrong? You are _BLIND!”_

He shouted the last bit, ready to get up and leave. He turned away... but then Emile cried out in pain. Nobody looked back and saw that Emile’s glasses had fallen off and he was covering his face with his hands.

When Emile moved them... blood was dripping from his eyes.

Nobody was frozen in shock as Emile fell to the floor. He finally managed to shake himself free of it, and scrambled to get the door open.

“Help!” He shouted at Googleplier who was waiting outside for him. “Get Dr. Iplier!”


	7. The Shock

“He did this... just by speaking?” Dark said slowly.

“That’s what I’m getting from Emile,” said Dr. Iplier. “But I wasn’t there so I can’t be sure.”

 _“How?!”_ Dark said. “He didn’t write anything down.”

“The Host has a theory,” said Host.

Dark and Dr. Iplier both turned to look at him.

“It is a very popular headcanon that The Author and The Host are the same person,” Host explained. “The idea is that something happened to The Author that caused him to go blind... or he ripped out his own eyes. This is how The Author becomes The Host...”

“What does this mean?” Dark asked. “Is he becoming you now?”

“The Host is unsure,” said Host. “But he does know one thing: an author’s mind is never quiet. Words and ideas always float around freely. Sometimes they are overwhelming and overpower everything else. It’s possible that Nobody’s mind became too overwhelmed, and so his power switched from the written word to the spoken word in an attempt to alleviate the stress. Since there is already a very powerful headcanon, his power adapted accordingly..."

Dark sighed.

“How is Emile doing?” He asked.

“He was bleeding from the eyes, but no real damage from what I can see,” said Dr. Iplier. “He will need to wear bandages for a while, but his vision should be fine after he heals.”

“So The Author’s power hasn’t _quite_ shifted,” Dark mused.

“The Host doubts that Nobody’s power will ever be the same again,” said Host. “It certainly will not be as powerful now. This is nothing more than his mind trying to lessen the stress. It’s not a new power.”

“This still concerns me,” said Dark. “How much can he do? Will it grow over time? How much of a danger is he now?”

He was silent for a moment.

“What’s he doing now?” He asked Host.

“Nobody is not handling this well,” said Host. “He is confused and he is in shock. He does not know what he did or how he did it.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Dark said. “I’ll have someone talk to him when he’s feeling better. It’s best to get a handle on this now before it gets out of control.”

**ELSEWHERE**

“Kick his ass!” Marvin called out.

They had relocated to an empty room and a crowd had gathered to watch the fight. Apparently, Patcher had to fight the other people who wanted that painting, and he was doing rather well so far.

Patcher spat out some blood and rolled his shoulder. He’d taken off his jacket and shirt to make it easier for him to swing. His lip was split and he already had a few bruises forming on his chest, but he was still winning so far.

The woman was watching them from the front of the crowd, ready to call the winner when it was over. She announced the next round and Patcher was once again locked into battle...

Marvin felt his phone vibrate and answered it, eyes still on the fight.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“I think I found him!” Jackie said. “I hacked a few sites and found some records for an apartment complex. One of them is being rented to a 'J.S'.”

“We can’t go off on initials alone,” Marvin winced when Patcher was punched in the face.

“I know, so I did some more digging,” said Jackie. “The apartment was rented out only recently in the past few months. It’s as good a lead as we’ll get.”

“I guess you’re r- _dodge and weave, Patcher!”_ Marvin said, distracted by the fight. “I guess you’re right. Won’t hurt to check it out while we’re here.”

“What the hell is going on over there?” Jackie asked. “What are you yelling at?”

“Oh, it’s just Patcher fighting for the painting,” Marvin said.

There was a brief moment of silence.

 _“What?”_ Jackie asked.

“Yeah, you don’t pay for paintings with money here,” said Marvin. “You fight for them- Bite him! Bite him, Patcher!”

“...Ok...” Jackie said slowly. “I’ll just... leave you guys to that. I’ll text you the address in a minute. Good luck.”

“Thanks Jackie,” Marvin ended the call.

Patcher did end up winning all rounds and was declared the new owner of the painting. Marvin once again gave them an address to send it to.

“You ok?” Marvin asked as he they walked down the street.

Patcher was sporting a rapidly swelling eye, a split lip, some bruises, and a few gashes from an opponent’s ring. But he still seemed happy despite it all.

 _That was fun,_ he signed with blood stained fingers. _Quite the thrill. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to recover when Anti and Jameson split._

“Is that how it works?” Marvin asked. “Good to know. Jackie found a lead, we’ll follow up on it tomorrow. I’ve had more than enough excitement for one night and I want to get out of these tight clothes...”

 _Agreed,_ Patcher signed. _Tomorrow._

**ELSEWHERE**

Nobody sat curled up in the corner of his room. They had brought him back and locked him in while Emile was being tended to. Nobody still couldn’t believe what had happened.

He hadn’t written anything, he’d just said it. He'd been so angry, so frustrated...

And now he was terrified. What had he done?

He was still shaking, fingers twitching as if looking for a pen. The dizziness had finally faded, but he felt no better than before.

What had he done?

He slowly glanced to the side...

 **“I...”** he choked. **“I-I didn’t m-mean to. I didn’t... I s-swear...”**

He hated this. He hated all of this. He’d mourned the loss of his powers, and now he’d been given one he couldn’t even control. When was it going to end? When would he finally have control over things? Over his life?

That was all he wanted. To be in control. To have a life of his own.

He wanted to go back to his cabin. He wanted to go back to the days when he could sit there in the fresh air and write to his heart’s content. He wanted to see the deer again, wanted to hear the wolves howl at night. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to forget.

He wanted to forget about ever knowing the truth...

In all the chaos of the world, in all the madness of knowing... he’d at least been comforted by the fact that he knew himself. He knew who he was, he knew what he could do.

And now he didn’t have that. He had no idea what was happening to him. He had no idea who he was now.

 **“I’m just... I-I'm gonna...”** he slowly lay down on the floor. **“Gonna pass out now... just f-for a bit...** it’s too bright in here...”

The lightbulb shattered and plunged the room into darkness.


	8. The Feeling of Helplessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more background on Nobody's history with The Actor. Warning for almost drowning.

Just because the Actor was dead didn’t mean that Nobody was free of him.

Actor was in his dreams and in his memories...

He remembered when they first met. Actor had played the role of sympathetic mentor very well. Actor said he understood. He knew about The Audience too. But he had preened at the attention like a peacock and loved every minute of it.

_“You have a choice.” He’d said. “Either earn their love or break free.”_

_“Do they love you?” Nobody had asked._

_“Oh, they all adore me,” Actor had said. “But I wouldn’t try if I were you. The Audience are a fickle bunch. One minute they love you, and the next they’re tearing you to pieces. And even if you do earn their love, don’t you want to have control over your life? Don’t you want to be free? Help me, and I’ll help you...”_

Nobody should have turned around and walked away. But he took the devil’s deal instead. He was obsessed. He was terrified. He could constantly feel their gaze and hear their words. Every day was unknown. Every tomorrow was a chance. Someone was determining what would happen to him, and he had no idea what ending they had in mind...

Actor gave him subjects, gave him pens and notebooks, told him about a special ink that could make him more powerful.

_“Experiment,” He’d said. “See how far an author can push their characters. See if there’s any way that they can resist you...”_

Nobody’s attitude had changed with those experiments. He felt the rush of power with a pen in his hand. He had enjoyed hurting the others. He had enjoyed forcing them to do things and watch them as they helplessly obeyed. He pushed his experiments further and further, bringing his subjects to the brink of death only to pull them back...

And then Actor began to change...

Nobody was not giving him the results that he wanted. Things were not going according to his plans...

“You aren’t strong enough,” Actor eventually cornered him. “You need to get stronger or you’ll never break free. Can’t you understand that?”

Actor then began to... help him toughen up.

“This is what it means to be helpless!” Actor shouted.

Nobody was dunked into the icy water again, struggling against the hands that were holding him tightly. Those damn wraiths that Actor loved to use. Nobody was once again lifted from the water, coughing and spluttering.

“This is what it means to be weak!” Actor shouted.

Again, back into the water, lungs burning from holding his breath for so long. Again, pulled back out and shivering in the cold.

“You are weak! How can you hope to break free of _them_ if you cannot break free of _me?!”_ Actor said.

Nobody was pulled under again, and this time... they held him there until he fell unconscious...

When he woke up again, he vomited water and choked on it as he struggled to breathe. He shook and shivered in the cold air, blearily looking up to see the Actor standing over him.

“You disappoint me,” he said. “You could be so much greater than this. One could almost think that you _want_ to stay weak and trapped...”

Actor became more and more cruel, and Nobody became more and more cruel as a result, taking out his frustrations and his fear on his subjects, more determined than ever to find a way to break free if only to get away from the Actor. Actor did not let up on his ‘treatments’, if anything they got worse over time.

Nobody would come to know those wraiths very well, and even now he would still feel their chilling touch from time to time...

When the others escaped, Nobody... well, he was pretty sure his mind had repressed that period of trauma. All he remembered was waking up to The Actor speaking to him and feeling nothing but agony throughout his body. He’d lost the ink, he’d lost the prisoner... he had one chance left to make Actor happy.

Gone were the days of _‘Help me and I’ll help you.’_ Now there was only _‘Help me or I’ll kill you’._

When he was captured, Nobody finally had time to think...

He mourned his cabin, he mourned his chances of being free. He was ready to accept death, convinced that he was not going to make it out alive. When he lost his powers, he embraced death with open arms, ready to be put to rest or to face whatever punishment awaited him. But he didn’t want to give _them_ anymore power over him. He didn’t want them to type out his death like they had typed out his pain and torture. So he’d put his faith in The Audience.

And that had spectacularly backfired....

Now he was once again trapped, but he had a choice. For once... he had a choice.

His powers were coming back somehow. He could use them to escape. He could use them to make the people who had hurt him pay for what they did and he could once again feel that rush of power that he had felt with his victims.

Or he could roll over and wait to see what they chose to do to him. He’d hurt someone, no doubt Dark was going to kill him for it, Mark’s hesitance be damned. Dark was a scarily efficient killer. He’d make quick work of Nobody...

Nobody jolted awake from another nightmare of The Actor and groaned. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was still alone. It seemed that no one had come to bother him. He curled up against the corner again and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Only the author knows how the story will end,” he said softly. “Only the author has a choice. The characters are there only to serve a purpose. When they’ve done so, they are tossed aside. Only the author has a choice...”

He sighed heavily, smacking his head against the wall behind him. He could take a risk. He could try to fight. He could try to escape. But how powerful was he now? Could he stop Wilford? Darkiplier? The other dangerous egos in the house?

He opened his eyes when the door creaked open. He heard someone flip the light switch a few times. And then close the door behind them. When they got closer, they summoned a pink light.

It was Wilford.

“We’ve been worried about you,” he said. “You seemed to be in shock after what happened...”

Nobody turned away from him and frowned.

“No one blames you,” said Wilford. “We understand that you can’t control yourself right now.”

“You really expect me to believe that Dark isn’t angry?” Nobody snapped.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about him,” Wilford smiled. “I was talking about them.”

Nobody blinked, glancing at where Wilford was pointing.

“Who?” he asked, not daring to believe it. There was no way!

“Them!” Wilford smiled and pointed again. “The Audience. **Everyone give our friend a smile. Maybe a kind word or two. He looks like he could use some...”**


	9. The Revelation

**“Oh dear, the poor lad,”** Wilford said. **“I’ll have a talk with him...”**

“Who’s Jackie?” Nobody asked.

“One of the Septic chaps,” Wilford answered. “I haven’t spoken to him much, but he’s a pretty decent person from what I hear...”

“Wait...” Nobody’s eyes widened. “You can _hear them too?! How!?_ I know why _I_ can, I know why _the Actor_ could, but you? What’s your connection?”

“Oh that’s easy...” Wilford gave a dismissive wave. “It’s because I’m away with the fairies, so to speak.”

Nobody blinked.

“Huh?” He asked.

“Why I can see and hear them is not important,” said Wilford. “What’s important is what they are saying. You should listen to them sometimes, they can be rather useful...”

“I don’t want to listen to them!” Nobody snapped. “They’re all wrong! I’m not some... somebody to pity and coo over! I just want to get away from them! I want to break free! Actor said there is a way. He was supposed to teach me!”

“Author...” Wilford said gently. “I’ve been alive for over a hundred years. I can tell you with the utmost certainty that I have never seen or heard of any sort of way to get away from The Audience.”

“Just because you don’t know doesn’t mean there isn’t a way,” Nobody protested. “There has to be a way, I just haven’t found it yet. I need to experiment more. I need to do more research, but I will find a way-”

“Author,” Wilford interrupted. “Not even death can get you away from the Audience, believe me. And anyway, even if you could get away from them, you cannot get away from... the corgi.”

“The corgi,” Nobody visibly shivered.

He knew who the corgi was. He knew _what_ the corgi was...

“There is no escape,” Wilford repeated.

Nobody did not want to believe that. He had done so much, he had suffered so much, all in the name of getting away from those watchful eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to think it had all been in vain, That he bore scars and had suffered for nothing. That the Actor had taken advantage of him...

“No,” Nobody shook his head. “I-I... Th-there's... there has to be a way. I just... I haven’t discovered it yet. I just have to work harder. I have to get stronger. I have to... I have to keep trying! If that damn dog isn’t going to let me die, then I have to keep trying so that I can free myself from this hell.”

“You’re in Hell?” Wilford raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m in Hell!” Nobody growled. “This has been nothing but torture! I just... I just want to go home. I want to go back to my cabin. I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to be controlled!”

He glared up at Wilford.

“And I want you to _leave me alone!”_ he shouted.

Wilford vanished.

Nobody gasped and looked around the room... but Wilford was gone.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and hid his face in them. He was alone again. That was good. Well... he was as alone as he could be. The Audience’s words still rang in his mind, and he knew they were still there even if he was turned away from them.

They had mentioned Madpat. Had he been tortured by the Actor as well? Actor did not hold public punishments so it was impossible to tell. Nobody had always assumed he had been the only punching bag, but was that true? What had Madpat suffered if they were right?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Dark was probably going to kill him for what he’d done to Emile. All he had to do was wait and then let sweet death take him away. He wondered if that weirdo with the scythe would show up...

But even as he sat there, he could feel the guilt from what he’d done bloom in his chest.

“You shut up!” He suddenly roared. “You don’t know a damn thing! _**Just leave m̷͔̺̔ȩ̷͇̹͗̌ ̷̲̀a̸̞̎l̸̗͙̄̈́̑o̶̲̚ņ̶͈̱̟̘̟̝̙͚̱͕̩̲̈́͘͜ë̴̡̤͖̩̣͕̭̥́͌**_

M̶͉͠͝a̷̖͈͋̐̏r̶v̵i̶n̴ again woke up in a hotel bed. This time, it wasn’t due to his phone, which he enjoyed very much.

Sunlight was streaming through the windows, and a soft breeze was rattling outside. Marvin opened one of the windows and smiled as the breeze ruffled his hair. He rather enjoyed a nice breeze. With a yawn, he pulled his loose (and now normal shade of green) hair into a ponytail and grabbed his wallet. There was a bakery up the street, he’d grab a few things for breakfast.

Anti and Jameson were still asleep, both snoring in the same bed, having split apart after Patcher had fallen asleep the previous night. Anti was clinging to Jameson from behind, both resembling the embrace they often held while fused as Patcher. Their auras were connected, swirling together softly in a mix of black, white, and green.

Anti mumbled something in his sleep and pulled Jameson closer. He mumbled again and slowly opened his eyes. They widened when they saw his position. Patcher must have split in his sleep, Anti didn’t remember it at all. He glanced around to see that Marvin was gone. Some birds were singing right outside the open window and the atmosphere was... quiet. Peaceful.

He was still drowsy with sleep and exhausted from the fights the previous nights. Patcher must have won, if the proud feelings echoing in the depths of his aura were anything to go by...

He really didn’t want to move, but he didn’t feel it was right to be cuddling against Jameson like this. It was weird, right? For brothers to do this. And physical contact like this still made him a bit uneasy. He slowly tried to move, scooting back to move away...

And Jameson followed him.

Anti stared as the gentleman moved in his sleep, seeking out Anti’s warmth and security. He moved until his back was once again pressed against Anti and smiled softly in his sleep as he settled back down.

Welp, that settled it. Anti had tried. He'd tried everything he could to get away and Jameson just wouldn’t let him go. May as well go back to sleep, he was still tired...

Anti was asleep again when Marvin came back into the room and set a bag of pastries on the table. Marvin finally noticed how close they were together and couldn’t resist snapping a photo and sending it to Chase and Jackie.

He bit into a pastry and smiled. It was a rather pleasant morning, over all...


	10. The Paint S̴̬͒p̸̹̂ļ̵a̴̳̐t̸̜̆t̷̗͝ẹ̸̉r̴̖͛

**“Did that really happen? Did you really leave when I told you to? Is this... Is this part of my new powers? Am I finally able to make you go away? What else can I do? Can I make you go wherever I want? Let’s try... um... _The Audience goes to see what M̷a̴d̷p̸a̶t̶’̶s̴ ḏ̷̛͈̒o̴̠͒̚i̵̧̙̍n̵̢̚g̸̻̕_**

M̸̟̿a̵̠̎ḑ̶̹̈p̷a̴t̵ yawned as he sat watching one of Matpat’s videos. He did want to make an effort to connect with his creator, and he thought the best way to do so was by watching his content. He did have to admit that his creator made good videos and was very intelligent and observant.

And his dramatics were just hilarious.

Of course, the video he was watching was the one about Unus Annus. He felt a flush of pride that he knew the story when his creator didn’t. Matpat had expressed a desire to work with him after getting to know him better. When Madpat was more comfortable around them and didn’t feel painfully shy.

“What’s that?”

Madpat looked up to see Dawktrap sit down next to him on the couch.

“I thought he sounded familiar,” Dawktrap looked at the video playing. “That’s him, innit? Your creator?”

“Matpat,” Madpat smiled. “That’s him. He has some pretty good videos...”

“I know what you mean,” Dawktrap said. “I’ve started watching Lewis’s videos too. The FNAF Show is surprisingly entertaining...”

“Did someone say ‘FNAF’?”

They looked up to see one of the new egos entering the room. The one who wore the crown and red flannel shirt.

“You a FNAF ego?” Dawktrap asked.

“Not just _any_ FNAF ego,” said the new ego. “I... am the KING _of Five Nights at Freddy’s!”_

He posed, looking at them as if expecting them to be impressed. Dawktrap’s eyes narrowed and he stood up.

“Your creator’s got some real stones to be calling himself that,” he said. “My creator is the _real_ King of FNAF.”

“My creator was in a trailer for one of the games,” said King of FNAF.

“And my creator interviewed Scott Cawthon himself,” said Dawktrap. “ _And_ other actors from the series. _And_ he beat 50/20 mode.”

“Are you saying I’m not the King of FNAF?” King of FNAF narrowed his eyes.

“I’m saying... you’re not the King of FNAF,” Dawko didn’t back down.

“Can’t there be two kings?” Madpat asked from the couch. “And don’t I get a say? My creator has done tons of FNAF videos. He’s solved mysteries and played the games and stuff...”

“Hmm...” Dawktrap thought for a moment. “Compromise. Your creator can be the Prince of FNAF.”

Madpat thought for a moment.

“I’ll take it,” he said, going back to his laptop.

“So how are we going to settle this?” King of FNAF asked. “There can be only one king.”

“We settle it like men,” Dawktrap grinned. “A duel... to the death. We fight t̴̨̻͂o̴͚͝m̷͙̭͗o̴̪͛r̸͉͝r̸̜̤͗̾ǒ̵̡̰͌w̸͖͕͆.̸̣̲̄̈́.̸̮̙̋.̵͎̥͑̇”̸̻͛͝

**I̸t̶ ̶w̵o̴r̶ked! It actually worked! Wait, maybe that was a fluke. Let’s try again... um... _The Audience goes to see what... The Host is u̷̗̽p̶̻͒ ̶͍̈́ț̸̔o̶̘̓_**

H̸e̶ ̷c̷a̶r̴e̵fully mixed the colors he was painting with. He’d had another dream and it had i̵n̴s̴p̴i̴r̷e̵d̶ ̶h̵i̷m̶ t̴̯̝̅̽ō̷̺͈̓ ̴̣̞̎̌p̸͖̤͋a̵͉̤͛į̴͕̃n̵̰͆̒ṱ̸͚̆̑.̸̫̓͜ This one was to be a bit more... calm. Not quite as emotional as his other w̴͍̗̽͝o̵͈͈̐͝ṙ̴̖̘̳̊k̸̠̀̌s̸̪̃͛.̷̥̄͗͝ Maybe with this one he could finally be recognized as a real p̵̭̠̫͊̊ạ̴̯̾ì̵̻̦͛͜n̴̨̜̂͝t̵͚̞͕̓̽ę̵͖͌͝ṛ̴̨̪̑̈́͒.̴̟͓͙͆.̷͕̔̕.̸̯̘̈́

**“̷̰͐W̸̤͝ḥ̵̉o̷̦͆’̷͎̂s̸͚̍ that? That’s not The Host. Try again. The Host... The Host... _The Audience goes to see what The Host ḯ̵̫s̷̗̒ d̸̳̘̾͑̑̕ŏ̴͇̑͊̊i̷͕̔̍͗̃n̸͍̆g̷͚̈́͐_**

“̸C̷a̸n̷ ̷I̸ help you?” Security Mark asked the new ego.

“Here for a place to stay,” the said the new ego.

“Great. My partner here will help you fill out the necessary paperwork. I’ll get the camera ready,” Security Mark turned away to fiddle with the settings on the camera.

“Can I get your name, please?” Security Nate asked.

“Illinois,” the new ego winked and a whip crack could be heard.

“Oh,” Security Nate blushed slightly and cleared his throat. “And your creator’s name?”

“Is this paperwork really necessary?” Illinois leaned forward on the desk. “Can’t a pretty thing like you just let me in? Just a small exception?”

“I...” Security Nate blushed darker and shyly ducked his head. “Well...”

He yelped when Security Mark suddenly slammed his hand on the desk.

“Fill out the paperwork or you will be refused entry,” he growled. “And if you continue to use your tricks on my partner, you will not like what will happen...”

“Sorry,” Illinois put his hands up. “Sometimes I can’t turn it off.”

“Learn to,” Security Mark glared. “Now answer the questions.”

Security Nate shook his head as if casting off a daze and continued through the questions. After getting his picture taken, Illinois strode off into the house.

“Are you ok?” Security Mark asked. “Did he put some kind of spell on you?”

“I-I don’t know,” Security Nate rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I just... I just suddenly felt... attracted to him. I can’t describe it.”

“Hmm...” Security Mark frowned. “Go take a break. Maybe splash some water on your face. I’ll hold down the fort. I’ll make sure Dark hears about this. D̸o̶n̴’̶t̷ w̶̨̼̎̾o̵̫̎̕r̸̘͉͑r̴̹̞̈́̕ỷ̸͚̍.̶̭͚.̶͓͛.̵̪̋͜”̵̨̠̄

**N̶o̵,̸ ̶t̷h̵at wasn’t The Host either. I guess I still need to work on this new ability. This... This changes everything. I need to work on it more. With any luck, I can use this to finally be free...**

Marvin and the others stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall, watching the doors as he passed them.

“This place is a dump,” Anti said as he looked around. “You’d think a painter like him could afford something nicer with the money he’s made on those paintings we bought...”

“Unless the money isn’t going to him,” Marvin said. “it’s not uncommon for galleries to pay very little for paintings and then sell them for big money. Especially if the painter is desperate and unknown. It would explain why they were so hesitant to name him...”

 **How awful,** Jameson shook his head. **I do hope he’ll agree to come back with us. He should be living better than this.**

“Let’s hope,” Marvin stopped in front of a door. “This is the number Jackie gave us...”

He knocked on the door and then stepped back. After a few minutes, Marvin heard the door unlock and it opened.

The man standing there had Sean’s familiar green hair and was wearing a paint stained shirt and long pants. A paint brush was tucked behind his ear, and even his hair had paint in it.

 _“Bonjour,”_ he said uncertainly, glancing between them. _“Puis-je vous aider?”_


	11. T̸̹̈́ḥ̷̚ȩ̷̈́ ̸̜̇N̶̙͘e̷͔̎w̷̢̃ ̸̹͝B̴̜̀r̴̛͙o̶̺̕t̸̟̽h̶͎͒e̷̦͌r̶̖̓

Jacque’s apartment was as ratty as the rest of the building. Cracks in the walls, holes in the carpet, dirty windows, and it was very drafty. The apartment itself was just a huge room with a kitchenette crammed into a corner and a bed pushed against the opposite wall. There was a separate room for the bathroom, but not much else.

“I would offer you some tea, but I ran out a few days ago,” Jacques said, trying to move the numerous art supplies around to make room for his guests to sit. “I do not have the funds to buy more...”

Anti looked around and curled his lip.

“You live here?” He asked. “This is a roach motel with extra steps.”

“Well we cannot all live like the _bourgeoisie...”_ Jacques frowned. “Some of us have to work for a living...”

“You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want,” said Marvin. “You know about our creator Sean, right?”

 _“Oui,”_ said Jacques. “I know him.”

“He sent me to collect everyone and bring them under one roof,” said Marvin. “I have everyone I’ve managed to find so far, but I only recently found out about you. It’s difficult to know who all came over when... when this all happened.”

“So this is... what?” Jacques asked. “An invitation? France is my home. I cannot just leave. How am I to grow as a painter? You cannot do that in... wherever you are from.”

“Ireland,” Anti said.

 _“Oui,_ there,” Jacques folded his arms. “Things look bad now, I know. But I know that I can achieve my dreams here. People already like my art, and it’s being displayed in prominent galleries. Even if it isn’t selling well, people are still looking at it.”

 **I should hope that you are at least being paid well for the art pieces that we recently purchased,** Jameson tilted his head. **They were quite expensive...**

“Expensive?” Jacques looked confused. “What do you mean? The gallery who bought 'All The Way' from me said it would not sell for much. It’s why they bought it from me for such a low price. They said I was lucky enough that they were even considering displaying it!”

The others shared a glance.

“Um...” Marvin cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. He logged into an app and slowly showed Jacques the screen where it showed the recent purchase he made at the snooty gallery and how much it was for.

Jacques looked... and his jaw dropped.

 _“Quoi?!”_ His eyes filled with rage and he began to curse in French, stomping his feet and throwing his brushes around.

 _“They cheated me!”_ He roared. “Those bastards cheated me! They make me out to be a fool!” his rage died as his eyes went wide again. “Oh... I sold them another painting this morning. They paid cheap for that one too. Oh, but they are not going to display it. Not on my watch!”

He pulled on a threadbare jacket and quickly left his apartment, not even bothering to lock the door after he slammed it shut.

“Guys, I think we’re gonna need Patcher for this one,” Marvin glanced at the other two.

They followed Jacques back to the gallery they had visited the first night. Jacques was already kicking up a fuss as he tried to find where his painting was being displayed.

“Where is it?!” He cried. “Where is my painting?! Jules, you _cul de cochon,_ I should bash your head against the walls!”

“What is going on here?!” A man in a suit entered the room just as Jacques found his painting.

“I changed my mind, I want this painting back, you bastard!” Jacques said.

“Jacques, I already paid you for it. This is a huge opportunity that many others would die for,” said Jules. “You should be grateful...”

“Grateful?!” Jacques growled. “You buy my painting with pocket change and then you turn around and you sell it for thousands? And you do not credit me! No one here knows that I am the man who painted this! Why the hell should I be grateful for this?”

“Jacques, that’s how business goes,” said Jules. “When you become famous, you can negotiate more, but for now you have to take what you can get.”

“You lie to me, you deceive me, you take advantage!” Jacques snapped. “How many others have you cheated? How many are starving on the streets while you take thousands for their hard work? _How many?!”_

“Jaques, the painting belongs to the gallery now,” Jules narrowed his eyes. “You made a bad decision, you must live with it.”

“No,” Jacques. “No, you will not have this painting!”

He reached up and smacked his palm against the painting. Before anyone could do anything... the painting began to change. The colors turned red and the paint began to drip off the canvas and down the wall to puddle on the floor. The crowd drew back in shock as a copper scent filled the air.

“Is... is that blood?” Marvin asked, covering his nose.

“Every painter puts their blood and their sweat and their tears into their work,” Jacques snarled, pointing a bloody finger at Jules. “We put our hearts into our work. We put our lives into it. So if you want it that bad, then you can have it as it really is. My life’s blood. Here, for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy, everyone!”

He stomped out of the gallery as Jules got over his shock and shouted for security. But Jacques was already gone before they could catch him.

“Jacques, wait!” Marvin ran after him. “Jacques...”

Jacques was still muttering angrily in French, but he was also crying.

“Jacques?” Marvin said in concern.

“I should have known!” Jacques suddenly said. “I should have known! But I let the stars get into my eyes, and they blinded me... I feel so stupid. So dumb!”

He sniffled and wiped at his nose, smearing it with blood. Patcher offered Jacques his handkerchief and then slid his jacket around Jacques’s shoulders to shield him from the cold.

 _“Merci,”_ Jacques cried as he wiped at his tears. “I am sorry. I should not act this way. You did nothing to hurt me and yet I am yelling at you with my anger...”

“It’s ok,” Marvin rubbed his shoulder. “We understand. We would be upset too. But, look... I don’t want you to stay out here and live in a tiny apartment with no food or heating in the middle of winter. I want you safe and fed and taken care of. Will you please come back with us? I promise you don’t have to give up on your dreams. We’ll help you. And we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Jacques was silent for a moment, still sniffling and wiping at his eyes. He’d been alone for so long. He swore to himself that he was going to stay here and become famous. He had the talent, he just needed the time...

But at the same time, he had no money left. He’d already used what he’d made on that morning’s sale to pay his rent and he had nothing left. He couldn’t keep going like this, he would die.

“I... maybe just for a little while,” he said. “Until I can... I have enough money to make it on my own. Then I’ll come back and show them that I am worth more than they say...”

Marvin smiled.

“Great,” he said. “Let’s get you home. You look like you could use a good meal, and Henrik is cooking tonight.”

Jacques’s stomach rumbled, but for once it was not a problem.

**ELSEWHERE**

Dark unlocked Nobody’s door and opened it.

“Nobody, we need to talk to... Nobody?” He looked around.

Nobody was gone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the last chapter guys. I dunno if it's some kind of formatting error, but I can't seem to correct how it looks. I think it got corrupted somehow when I saved it. I'll k̴e̵e̴p̷ ̶t̶r̵y̵i̴n̵g̸,̴ ̸t̷h̸o̷u̶g̷h̶.̴ T̴̳̔h̴͔̅a̷͉̕n̴͖̚k̸̲̈ ̷̰̃ỹ̷̙o̴̗̎u̶̪̎ ̸̫̕f̵͙̈́ȯ̷̢r̶͍͑ ̷̺́y̶̦̾o̶͉͂ü̷̫r̷͓̅ ̷̳͐p̷̟̍ạ̸̍t̶̪̊ī̵̠e̴̥͑ṋ̸͊ć̴͉e̴̛̯.̵̦̈́


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello? Is anyone there? What this place? Where am I? Hello?!?**

_Hello?_

**Oh! Who’s that?**

_It’s me, Wilford._

**Author? Is that you?**

_So this is where you were sent when I told you to leave me alone. You’re right under the corgi’s paws, huh? No longer in the story, you’re behind the scenes so to speak. You've been here before, haven't you?_

**I can’t get back to the house. I can’t get back to our world.**

_Of course you can’t. I haven’t sent you back yet. I think I’ll keep you here for a bit longer. Oh, and thanks for the advice, you were right. Sometimes The Audience can prove useful._

**What do you mean?**

_I listened to them. One of them said how they are often just a silent observer and the real control lies in the corgi’s hands. I was wrong to be angry at them, but now I know who I need to go after._

**What are you going to do?**

_I’m going after the corgi. The author is the one who controls the way a story goes, and I am still an author apparently. I understand what happened. I understand what I must do. This world only exists so long as the corgi keeps typing. If I can get enough power... if I can get enough control... then I can wrestle the words away from the corgi and use my own. I can become The Author again. I can control this story and give it the ending that I want. And maybe... maybe I’ll just decide to destroy it all._

**But you’ll be destroyed too!**

_Not if I’m careful. I can end it with nothing existing but my forest and my cabin. I’ll be back in my sanctuary with no one to hurt me or manipulate me. I’ll finally be at peace._

**The Audience can see this! They'll know what you intend to do!**

_The Audience can do nothing. I'll see you around, Wilford. I have to go hone my powers if I want this to work._

**Author, no! Author? Author?! Where... where did he go? Author!!**


	13. The Muse's Devoted

“Has anyone seen Wilford!?” Dark yelled as he stomped through the house. “Anyone at all?!”

He made his way to the exit and AJ nervously stepped back from his desk.

“AJ,” Dark tried to keep his voice level. “Did Wilford sign out?”

“Wilford?” AJ checked his clipboard. “Um... no sir. He hasn’t signed out today.”

Dark slammed his fist against AJ’s desk in his anger. AJ cried out in terror and ducked back.

“Dark, what’s wrong?” Father Ethan asked as Dark walked by. Mad Mike nervously tossed something into his mouth and quickly swallowed it.

Dark went upstairs and quickly made his way to Host’s office.

“Host! Can you see where Wilford is?” He asked.

Host did not answer.

“Host?” Dark asked, walking up to his desk.

“The Host... cannot see Wilford Warfstache,” Host said slowly. “Nor can he see Nobody.”

“What does that mean?” Dark asked.

“It means... that Wilford and Nobody... are no longer in this world. They are somewhere else now,” Host explained. “And we are all in danger.”

“Danger?” Dark’s eyes widened and his form flickered. “What... what danger? What is going on?”

“The Host is unsure,” said Host. “He has never seen anything like this before. He can only be certain of one thing.”

“What’s that?” Dark asked.

“Nobody is no longer his name,” said Host. “He now calls himself... The Narrator.”

**ELSEWHERE**

“This... is where you live?” Jacques said as he looked around. He sniffed the air and nearly drooled when he smelled something cooking in the kitchen.

“This is it,” Marvin smiled. “And it’s where you’ll be living too. There should be an empty room upstairs for you. You can decorate it however you please.”

“Oh, can I please paint the walls?” Jacques asked.

“Of course,” Marvin beamed. “However you want.”

Jacque’s face lit up even more and he happily bounced in place.

 _“Merveilleux!”_ He said. “At least I will be warm this winter... but I do not have any funds. I will do what I can to contribute to the house.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Anti shook his head. “We have plenty of money. You can use some if you need it, just let us know. Marvin, we should probably get him a card...”

“Yeah,” Marvin nodded. “Oh! There are a few other rooms that aren’t really being used for anything. If you want, you can take one and make it into a studio for you to paint in. I can get you some paints and whatnot, I think there’s a craft store not far up the road.”

“A what?” Jacques’s eyes widened. “ _Un... Un atelier de peintre?_ My very own? Oh! I will be like the famous painters. I will be able to paint so many things...”

“While we’re on the subject,” Anti frowned. “Where do you get your inspiration from? That one painting... Say Goodbye? Where the hell did that come from?”

“My dreams,” said Jacques. “I have dreams of these things and then I get inspiration to paint them.”

Marvin and Anti shared a glance.

“Have you... had any dreams that you didn’t paint?” Marvin asked.

“No,” Jacques said. “Any dream that I am compelled to paint, I _must_ paint. Otherwise, it burns inside me like fire and I am miserable. There were a few paintings that I did not like so I did not sell them. I lost those when someone broke into my apartment and stole them. I am still trying to track them down...”

“Which ones were they?” Anti asked. “Anything with green hair?”

“One was just a black and white spiral that I named 'Memento Mori',” Jacques said. He missed how Marvin and Anti’s eyes widened. “Another one was... um...” He tapped a finger against his temple as he struggled to remember. “Sorry, it is hard to keep track. I used to list them, but I lost it. Um... oh! One was a painting of a very macabre two headed dog. I named it ‘Dog of the Phoenix’.”

“And you said you dreamed about these things?” Marvin asked.

 _“Oui,”_ Jacques nodded. “But my dreams have always been a little strange. I suppose I just have an overactive imagination. The Muse, she is a strange mistress, _non?”_

“Why don’t you head upstairs and find a room that you like?” Marvin said. “We’ll call you down when dinner’s ready.”

“Ah, _merci,”_ Jacques smiled again. “I am happy that you were able to find me. I will repay your kindness somehow. _Je le promets sur ma toile.”_

He went up the stairs and Marvin turned to look at Anti.

“That was how we found Chase,” he said. “Remus conjured some kind of two headed dog. It was at a convention in Phoenix Arizona.”

“Are you serious?” Anti asked. “How is he dreaming this stuff? Is it some kind of power?”

“Maybe,” Marvin shrugged. “But it seems pretty harmless. Let’s not worry too much now. Just... keep an eye out for anything dangerous.”

“Famous last words,” Anti said.

Jacques found a room and began to unpack the few boxes of art supplies he still had at his old apartment. He set up the easel in the corner and neatly arranged his paints on a nearby table. He set a blank canvas on the easel and sighed. This room... it had good vibes. It was a nice home for his muse. It would be a nice home for his paintings.

Jacques pressed a hand against the canvas and then pressed his other hand against his chest. He focused on his heartbeat and fell silent as he listened to it. Blood began to seep into the canvas from his hand, disappearing into the fibers.

 _“Le cœur bat et donne du sang pour les peintures,”_ Jacques said softly. _“C'est ma vie. C'est mon coeur. Ceci est mon sang. Ces peintures sont une extension de mon âme même. Je ferai de mon sang un art.”_

He moved his hand away and the canvas faded into its usual pristine white. Jacques smiled, feeling that he was going to be able to make great things in this house...


	14. The Art Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for vomiting

“What do you mean they’re missing?” Madpat asked.

“I mean they’re missing!” Dark snapped. “Wilford and The Narrator both. Host can’t find them, and he says that they’re not in this world anymore. You two might be able to help. Dawktrap, you can see into other realities. Do you think you could maybe look around and see if you can find them?”

“It’s not that easy,” Dawktrap said. “It’s like asking to find someone on a map of the world. There are hundreds of different realities out there. But I’ll try. I might get lucky.”

“Madpat, you’re probably the smartest man here,” Dark said. “I want you to help Dawktrap. I already have a few egos working the magic side of things. I need you two to handle the science...”

“There’s something you’re not telling us,” Madpat narrowed his eyes. “Why are they missing in the first place?”

Dark sighed heavily and his form flickered, red and blue outlines forming and then disappearing.

“The Narrator... has somewhat regained his powers,” he said. “He can make things happen just by speaking. I... I’m afraid he might have something to do with Wilford’s disappearance. That’s why we have to work together, please...”

“Just when I thought it was over...” Madpat shook his head and sighed. “I’m in. You’re going to need all the help you can get if he’s still as twisted as he was under The Actor...”

“I’ll help too,” Dawktrap said. “May as well put my skills to good use...”

“Then let’s get started,” said Dark.

Dave was doing a perimeter check.

The night was mostly quiet except for a few egos who were still up. Some were making food in the kitchen, some were watching tv, some were playing video games... normal stuff. Dave was making sure the windows and doors were all shut and locked. As he did, someone came inside and shivered.

“King,” Dave greeted. “Too cold?”

“F-Freezing,” King of the Squirrels said. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay inside tonight.”

“See anything when you were coming in?” Dave asked as he locked the door.

“Just the zombie egos,” said King. “Not much else. Anyway, I’ll see you later. I’m gonna make some soup to warm myself up.”

“Later,” Dave smiled as King walked off.

He rather liked it at this house. Sure some of the people were a bit... weird, but they were all nice enough that he didn’t have any problems with them. Even better, they understood when he didn’t want to talk about some parts of his past or about his scars. They seemed to have their own secrets, and it was a mutual understanding to not push too hard.

With his check completed, he settled down at his desk to keep an eye on the security cameras. Nothing was really happening on them, but he wasn’t going to resolve himself to a quiet night just yet. The other guards had warned him that things could change in the blink of an eye, so it was best to keep both of his open.

“Can I tempt you, hun?”

Dave looked up to see one of the other egos standing at his desk and holding a cup of coffee.

“I always brought some for the other guards,” he said. “No one else in this house can make a decent cup of coffee...”

“Thanks,” Dave took it. “I don’t really need it, but I appreciate it.”

“Confident, are we?” the ego lowered his sunglasses and smiled. “Not worried about falling asleep?”

“I don’t sleep,” Dave sipped his coffee. Wow, that was actually really good.

“Interesting,” said the ego. “Name’s Remy. You new?”

“Dave, and yes I am,” he smiled back. “Did you need any help?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Remy sipped his own coffee. “Just checking in...”

**ELSEWHERE**

It was past midnight and Jacques did not want to get up. He wanted to stay in his warm bed and sleep, but he’d woken up after another dream, and he knew he needed to get to his canvas. Still, he tried to hold on as long as he could. Tried to soak as much warmth into him as he could before he had to brave the cold of the house in the name of painting.

Unfortunately, he waited too long.

His stomach lurched, and Jacques sat up with a gag. He scrambled for the nearby trash can and vomited into it, coughing and spitting a few times. He wiped his mouth, smearing it with yellow, purple, and red colors. Some of the mess had splattered on the ground, but he ignored it, leaving multicolored foot prints on the floor as he left his room and went to his new studio.

He turned on the light and set the trash can aside. In the light, he could see the colors he’d brought up and quickly got to work.

 _“Parfois, je pense que j'aurais dû être médecin à la place...”_ he said as he mixed his paints together for the right color. _“Mais le pinceau m'appelle et je dois répondre...”_

He began his painting, image still fresh in his mind.

Marvin was woken up a few hours later and left his room to get a glass of water. He didn’t notice anything unusual until he stepped in something sticky on the floor. Looking down, he saw strange footprints that led to Jacque’s new studio. Marvin narrowed his eyes slightly and walked over.

“Jacques?” He softly knocked on the door so as to not wake the others. “Jacques, are you ok?”

He paused and waited for an answer, but received none.

“Jacques, I’m coming in,” he said, opening the door.

He saw Jacques mumbling to himself in French while he finished up a strange looking painting. The painting was of a rabbit head that Marvin recognized as Dawktrap’s rabbit head.

It had blood on it...

“Jacques?” Marvin walked closer.

“Huh?” Jacques turned around. “Oh, Marvin! Did I wake you?”

“No, I got up for something else and noticed the footprints,” Marvin said, glancing curiously at the trash can on the table.

“Oh... _je suis désolé,”_ Jacques groaned, finally finishing the painting. “I got a little sick. It happens when I do not paint fast enough...”

Marvin looked into the trash can and his eyes widened. He slowly looked at Jacques who was gathering his brushes.

“Jacques,” he said. “Did... did you vomit paint?”

Jacques coughed into his hand, splattering it with a few drops of purple.

“Um... _peut être?”_


	15. The Rabbit Head P̶͉̂ͅâ̷̼̮i̶̫̬̔̌n̷͙̂̎t̷͈͈̊̇i̴̹̇n̵̝̾g̶͠ͅ

“He is vomiting _what?”_ Henrik asked as he pulled a robe on over his polka dot pajamas.

“Paint,” said Marvin. “I found him in his studio and he was painting something. Said he’d gotten sick and threw up paint like it was completely normal.”

“Let me see him,” Henrik followed Marvin out of his room and to the studio. Jacques was coughing into the trashcan, kneeling on the floor. He finally sat back and sighed in relief.

 _“C’est fini,”_ he said weakly. _“C’est fini...”_

“Jacques, are you ok?” Henrik knelt down and shined a penlight into Jacques’s mouth. Sure enough, his tongue, teeth, and other parts were stained slightly with paint.

“I’m fine,” Jacques said, lightly brushing Henrik’s hands aside. “The painting is done. I can relax now.”

Henrik narrowed his eyes, giving Jacques a scrutinizing look.

“You are positive?” he said. “You are positive that this is normal and that you are ok?”

 _“Oui,”_ Jacques said.

Henrik stared for a moment longer.

“Very well,” he said. “You know your body better than I do, but please let me know if you do need anything.”

 _“Merci, Docteur,”_ Jacques sighed.

“So what happened?” Marvin asked. “You said this happens when you don’t paint fast enough.”

“The curse of being an artist,” Jacques shook his head. “It is called Art Sickness. You get inspiration and if you do not act on it fast enough, it makes you sick or drives you mad. I’ve seen artists in the street using anything they can to draw or paint or make some sort of art to alleviate the sickness...”

“That sounds awful,” Marvin winced. “Glad I'm not an artist...”

 _“Oui,_ it can be difficult,” Jacques agreed. “People do not realize... an artist’s art is their life. They pour so much of themselves into each work, they imbue it with their very soul. The paint may as well be my blood, for each painting feels like a living thing that I have created from myself. I imagine it’s like your magic. Your magic is an important part of yourself, _non?”_

“Now I’m _really_ glad I’m not an artist,” Marvin chuckled. “Sounds like a crazy life.”

“Sometimes,” Jacques shrugged as he stood up. “But each painting makes life brighter...”

“Really? Because this one looks a bit... morbid,” Henrik said, standing to look at the painting.

“I do not control the inspiration,” Jacques said. “It strikes when it pleases. I only paint what it tells me to.”

“You said you paint your dreams?” Marvin asked. “What were you dreaming?”

What kind of dream would have an image like this? Had it been some kind of nightmare?

“I do not remember,” said Jacques. “I never remember what I was dreaming. I only remember an image to paint. I... have no idea what this is. Looks like some sort of... theme park character. Like the Disney World in Paris...”

“This is the head of a costume that belongs to a friend of mine,” said Marvin. “It looks exactly like it. Does the name ‘Dawktrap’ mean anything to you?”

“Dawktrap?” Jacques repeated. _“Non._ Who is Dawktrap?”

Marvin looked at the painting. It had to be Dawktrap’s costume head. But Jacques said he had no idea who Dawktrap even was. Marvin had a bad feeling about this whole thing. He remembered the other paintings that Jacques had made...

Was this something that had already happened? Was it happening now? Was it going to happen in the future? Marvin had no way of knowing, but he knew that he needed to do something.

“I need to call Madpat,” he said. “Jacques, wait here, please.”

“Is something wrong?” Jacques asked as Marvin left. “Did I do something wrong?”

 _“Nein,”_ Henrik pat his shoulder. “You did not. Um... why don’t you tell me about your painting? What techniques did you use?”

Jacques’s face lit up and he eagerly began to explain how he did the painting. Henrik had no idea what he was talking about, but he smiled and nodded as if he did.

Marvin went back to his room and dialed a number on his phone. He paced as he listened to the other line ring before someone finally picked up.

“Hello?” Madpat sounded groggy.

“Madpat,” Marvin said. “Is Dawktrap ok?”

“Huh?” there was rustling on the other line. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I found a new ego and he’s painted things that have happened before. He just painted Dawktrap’s rabbit head and I think something might have either happened to him or is going to him. Is he ok?”

“Um... we’re working on... oh, you don’t know. Hang on.” Marvin heard a door open and close. “Look, some weird stuff has happened. Author disappeared and Wilford is missing too. Dark said he’s calling himself The Narrator now, and he’s worried that he’s the reason why Wilford is missing. **(I'm here! Help me!)** He asked Dawktrap if he could try looking through other realities, but we haven’t had any luck yet.”

“Missing?” Marvin’s eyes widened. “How can he be missing? None of this is good. You need to hurry.”

Marvin could hear Madpat running and then a knock on a door. Madpat called out to Dawktrap... and then Marvin heard the door open. He waited with bated breath, struggling to hear what was happening.

“Dawktrap?” Madpat said, sounding like he wasn’t holding the phone to his ear. “Are you ok? Marvin said... oh my god! Dawktrap! Dawktrap, can you hear me?!”

“Madpat, what’s going on?” Marvin had frozen in his pacing. “Is he ok? _Madpat?!”_

But Madpat must have dropped the phone or put it aside. He heard Madpat trying to get Dawktrap’s attention and the rustling of what sounded like electric cords. There was more grunting and rustling before the door opened again, and then there was nothing but fading footsteps.

And then silence. Heavy, foreboding silence.

“Madpat?” Marvin asked. “Madpat, are you still t̸h̷e̵r̶e̵?̴ M̶̟͆a̵̖͇̅̂d̸̩̝̅

**I̴ ̶t̶h̵i̴n̵k̸ you’ve seen enough for now. Cliffhangers always help heighten the tension, don’t you think so? I’m sure you all love a good cliff hanger...**

_**The Audience g̷o̷ȅ̸͓̥s̸̥̆ ̴͙̫́̓ȧ̵̝̣͠w̵̦͉͘ą̴̰͆̑ỳ̸̢̛** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S̷͚ò̴̢͍m̵̧̲̋e̵̻̊͋t̸̫͋ẖ̸̻̕i̶̡̟̽n̸̺̫͐͋g̶̣̉ͅ ̶̘͝s̸̤t̴̡͛́r̷̢̲͌̂a̴̾ͅṅ̵̜̍g̶͕̣͑̕ȩ̴͚̕ ̷̛̲î̸̭̺̈́s̷̻͛̊ ̵̰͝h̷̟͐ȃ̵͕̣̐p̵̨͝p̷̙̐͒e̴̫̮̔̆n̵̨͉̈̿i̵͓̾n̸͉̈́̆g̵͙̠͌.̷͖̎̈́ ̸͖̼̕I̸͖̥̾͂t̴͓͉̏ ̶̱͐s̸̩̽ä̸̖̾y̵̤͛̆s̵̫̞͐ ̶̺͇̉ţ̴̼͌̑h̴̙̮ę̷͇̆̏r̸͈̣̎ë̸̝͔̅ ̶̧̬͝i̵̩͈̇̄s̵̬̐ ̸̡̄a̸͖̠͌ń̴̠͙͘ő̴̻̙t̶͓̘͒h̵̡̑ȅ̷͍͎̓r̴̖̟̈́͌ ̷̛̝̪̌c̵̭̒͘h̸̖̔̓ḁ̴̈́p̴̢͊͆t̴͎̎͝e̷͔̊͛͜r̶͔̲̽̚,̵̘͠͝ ̶̛̟͑b̶͈̉͗ǔ̵̠t̶̗̑͒ ̶͎͕̍͂w̷̬̆̍h̷̰͈̉e̸̛͉͠ṅ̸̫̜̎ ̴̧̡͘͘I̴̧͛ ̵̡̦̔t̵̡̜͛r̴̮̤̾͐y̶̞̓ ̴̛͍t̴̫̓̎o̶̭͇͝ ̸͇̥̃ŗ̵̈e̵̤̾å̸̙͜ḍ̵͝ ̵̛͙i̵͚͆̄t̵͚̬̕,̴̬͋͠ ̶̡̲̉̋i̵̡̾̈́t̷̜̎'̵̻̮̓s̷͎͈̆ ̶͍̗̎͌b̷̧͈̈l̷̝̱͘a̵̺̲͑n̵̘̆̕k̷̲͍̊.̴͍̼̔ ̷̡͉͆Ï̶͎͓s̵͖͈̑ ̵͚̋̏͜t̶̥̒́ẖ̵͚̒̏i̵̺͛s̶̛̟̙̔ ̷̠̀̔h̷̢̻̄͠ä̷̧́ͅp̸̹͎͊͗p̵̨̛̌ḛ̶͝n̵͎̕i̵̠͑n̷̬͔͂͘g̵̲̱͠͝ ̶͓̊̏f̶̻̓̎o̸͕̯̊̊r̸͛͜ ̶̢̼a̵̬̥̍͒n̷̨͈͋y̵̳͂͘o̷̟̎̃n̸͓̾̌e̵͓̠̊ ̴͈͌ͅȇ̷̢̗̃l̸͔̍͠ŝ̶͚e̴̬͐̂?̸̙̦̓


	16. The T̶̛̝e̸͙̊̑̋͋̊̊̆x̸̨̤͖̖̱͓̂͑̂͛̓͛̈̓̊̍͂̍̚͘t̸̢̺̖̝̫͋̍̽̏̚ ̴̫̱̗̹̳̥̤̯̗̤̲͕̙̾͑̾̐̈̐͘͜͝M̸͉̪̲͉͉̱̥̾̿͐́͒͝ẻ̷̮̳̜̺̟̠̲s̶̜̾͋̊s̸̨̜̭̤̥̼͕͖͍̜̦͙̦͌̔̆̄̆͜a̷̧̨̧̧͕̤̘̭̥̹̜̟̪̞̾̌͛̇̍͘͜g̶̨̲̼̜̳̝̔̊͜ḛ̷̜͉̼̹̜̠̻͍̞͔̙̭͇͊̿͗̾̊͒͛͗̕͜͠

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Can anyone hear me? Am I getting through to anyone? It's me, Wilford! Hello? Audience? Can you hear me? ******

“Something happened to Dawktrap?” Jackie asked.

They were all huddled around the kitchen table in pajamas and bathrobes. Coffee had been made and dispensed into colorful mugs. They all looked worried for their friend. **(Hello?)**

“What happened?” Chase asked. “Is he ok? I like that guy...”

“I have no idea,” Marvin sighed. “Madpat was on the phone with me and I heard him trying to get Dawktrap’s attention, but then he left and the phone sort of went staticky and the call just... abruptly ended. I’ve tried calling back and texting, but no one has responded yet.”

“Damn,” Jackie shook his head. “So what do we do now? **(Where am I?)** Should we head over?”

“I don’t know how dangerous it is,” said Marvin. “Author and Wilford are missing. Dawktrap was trying to help find them and now something’s happened to him. **(Can anyone hear me?)** I don’t think it’s a coincidence, but I have no way of knowing why it’s all happening or who’s doing it all.”

“And we don’t want to rush into things,” Jackie shook his head. “That’s a rookie mistake to make. We need to have some kind of idea first.”

 **But we can’t just not help them,** Jameson looked worried. **They are our friends!**

“I... I don’t know what to do,” Marvin rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I honestly have no idea what to do.”

The group fell silent as they tried to come up with any ideas, but nothing seemed to come to mind. On the one hand, it was dangerous to just rush over, but they couldn’t just ignore what had happened to Dawktrap.

“Should we wait for a response?” Henrik asked. “Maybe they will answer-”

Marvin’s phone pinged, announcing the arrival of a text message. Marvin eagerly unlocked his phone and looked at it.

 **Everything is fine. Dawktrap is fine. He just got dizzy from VR**.

“It says that Dawktrap is ok,” Marvin squinted at the text message. “He... got dizzy from playing too much VR?”

 **Impossible,** Jameson shook his head. **I saw him play for hours without so much as breaking a sweat. Perhaps they are mistaken?**

Anti looked at the phone and then snatched it from Marvin’s hand.

“Hey!” Marvin growled.

“Something’s wrong with this message,” Anti said, eyes glowing green. “This isn’t the original message. Someone’s messed with your phone.”

“Huh?” Marvin looked at the screen. “How can you tell?”

“I’m a virus,” said Anti. “A glitch. I can always tell when technology has been tampered with.”

“Can you tell what the original message was?” Henrik asked, craning his neck to see the phone too.

Anti fiddled with the phone for a few minutes. As he did, Jackie knocked over his mug of coffee with a yelp.

“Sorry!” He said, mopping it up with a dish towel. “Sorry. Let me just go get some wipes to clean this up with...”

“They should be in the hall closet,” Chase said, sipping his own mug.

Anti finally sighed and set the phone down.

“I can’t tell,” he said. “It’s like... someone wrote over the original message. I can’t see it at all...”

“Strange,” Marvin narrowed his eyes. “I can’t think of any egos who have that ability.”

 **Should we have Blank take a look?** Jameson asked. **He _is_ a tech demon, after all.**

“Maybe,” Marvin sighed. “I’ll have to try to contact him.”

“The sooner the better,” said Henrik. “Maybe then we can get some information or some kind of clue as to what is going on.”

**E̶̞͆L̵̦̄S̶̢͛Ȩ̶̂W̶̩̐Ḩ̶̃Ë̷͙́R̴̉ͅẼ̷̻**

**Ah, ah! I don’t think so. _Go back to the S̸̗̑ĕ̸̪p̶̣͘t̵̟͌i̸͘ͅc̷̠̀s̶̲̓_**

Jackie opened the hall closet and looked around for the container of cleaning wipes. Henrik had always griped about sugar making surfaces sticky when it was not cleaned properly. Jackie had received enough lectures on messes to not want another one, so he carefully picked out the correct container and closed the closet door. **(Now I know how Glitchtrap felt)**

Jackie turned to walk back to the kitchen. He would clean things up and then go to bed. Let the others argue over what was the best way to approach things, but it was probably nothing. Nothing to worry about at all.

He suddenly froze.

An idea suddenly came to mind.

He suddenly remembered the manor. He remembered The Actor telling him about something called The Audience. He remembered those eyes looking at him...

He’d assumed it had all been a trick of the Actor’s. Something to disorient him and confuse him. But he felt... he felt that maybe it hadn’t been a trick. Maybe it had been real. Such an idea had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since he’d gotten home.

But who or what was The Audience? Could they help? Could they help them somehow? Even more, could Jackie somehow summon them? The Actor had done it easily enough, but... how was Jackie supposed so to do it?

He looked at the wall next to him to see that it was smooth and blank, but he could almost imagine a window there... A window for someone to watch him through. A window for many people to watch him through. He glanced back down the hall towards the kitchen, briefly listening to the voices there. They were all busy, maybe he could try without them hearing and thinking he’d lost his mind.

“Um...” he nervously fidgeted with the container in his hands and cleared his throat. **“H-Hello? Is... is anyone there?”**

He said this softly, not wanting the others to hear him.

 **“Can... can anyone hear me?”** He continued. **“Hello? If someone’s there, can you give me some sort of sign? Are you... are you a ghost? Can you see me?”**

He waved his hand, looking around carefully.

“Maybe it was just a trick,” he mumbled. “Maybe Actor was just fooling me-”

He saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look and gasped. He could see... shadows. Shadows of faces. Faces that he could not distinguish, but there were many there. They were all looking at him, and he could hear muffled voices. Was this them?

 **“Are you... are you The Audience?”** Jackie ḁ̵̧̳̹̞̫̞̖͂̓͗͐̈͊̈́̽̓̔̇̿̕͝s̷̢̨͔̰̳͓̤̯͖͍̬͈̣͉̄̅͂͊̒̑̈́ǩ̷̢̞͔̣͓̦̑̋̃̔͋̌͒͠ę̷͓̱̫̹̺͓͎͍͖̗̗̠̙͚̯͌͂͌̓̒̍̿̎d̶̡̏̐́̋͑̿͗̽

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ď̵̨o̶̘̚n̵̞̔'̵̖̒ẗ̵̞́ ̷͙͆y̷̲̽ò̴͜u̶̞͋ ̸̲̑d̵̢̏å̶̮r̵͙̍e̸̬̒ ̴̱́c̸̻̍o̶̥̓m̴̳͋p̵͜͝a̷̳̔r̴̥͑ẹ̵͆ ̸̗͝m̷͔͋e̶͉̎ ̶͕͛ṯ̴͠o̶̻̓ ̴̠͗h̸̞̍i̴͖̎m̵̨͊!̵̠ ̸̥̀I̵̥͌'̶̥͛ṁ̷̦ ̵̧̓n̷͙̕o̶̟̽t̷͖͠ ̶̣̐t̸̒ͅr̶̡͐y̸̦i̶̹̋ǹ̵̗g̴̯͌ ̶̘̂t̶̹͘o̴̳͐ ̴͇̄h̵͙̑ũ̴̞r̸̪͝t̴̪̓ ̷̨̑ả̷̟n̷̠͝y̴̜͠o̸̰n̵̺͝e̴̻̽!̸̧̊ ̸̰̚Ǐ̴͈ ̵͇͐j̷̲͗ȕ̴͖ṡ̷̭ẗ̷̙́ ̵̤̊w̷̙̒ä̶̩́n̵͇̉t̴̪͂ ̵͛ͅt̸̰͘h̶͈͝e̴̞̽ ̵̳́p̶̲̆a̸̝͑ḯ̸̹n̷̛̮ ̷̹̌ț̴̽o̷̯̓ ̶̮̚s̷̤͆t̶͓̚ǫ̸̃p̸̮̊!̸͔̑


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello?**

**Who’s there?**

**Wilford? Is that you?**

**Dawktrap? What happened to you?**

**I think... I think I’m stuck. I didn’t make it back to my body. I’m trapped here in this reality.**

**This isn’t so much a reality as much as what’s behind the curtain.**

**What do you mean?**

**It’s difficult to explain. Just stay close to me, if you get lost here you may never get back.**

**What are we going to do? The Narrator is still out there!**

**Did you see him?**

**I did. It’s... it’s strange. Something seemed wrong with him. Like... like he wasn’t himself. Like he was suffering...**

**Suffering?**

**I didn’t get a good look before he pulled me here.**

**No matter. We need to find a way to get back.**

**How?**

**I don’t know yet. I’m still trying to see if The Audience can hear me.**

**The Audience? You mean my follower?**

**I believe they are among The Audience, but there are more out there.**

**How many m-**

**Shh!**

**What’s wrong?**

**I think he can see this...**


	18. The Shadow Beings

“What happened to him?” Madpat asked.

“I don’t know what the problem is,” said Dr. Iplier. “He’s perfectly healthy, but he’s... not responding to anything. His symptoms are consistent with those of a coma, so I think that’s best diagnosis I can give. All we can do now is keep an eye on him, I’ve already run every test I can think of.”

Madpat sighed.

“This can’t be coincidence,” he muttered.

“I agree,” said Dark. “You said you found him with his headset on?”

“Still plugged in too,” said Madpat. “He was on the floor and bleeding from his nose and one of his eyes. You don’t think... did The Narrator have something to do with this?” **(Yes, he did!)**

“I almost wish we were still dealing with The Actor,” said Dark. “I at least knew what he was capable of...” _(Well, that’s just rude)_

“Have you tried calling Marvin?” Madpat asked. “Maybe he knows a spell or something that can help with this.”

“I’ve tried, but nothing is going through,” said Dark. “Something must be wrong with his phone.”

“Does anyone else have any ideas?” Madpat asked. _(I see you there. You better stay silent)_

“I can’t think of anyone̶̦͠ ̶͍̏e̴̠͠l̸͚̉s̶̨̑e̷̱͛

**Boring! _The Audience goes some̵̩͌ẅ̴̞h̸̩̋ë̶̩r̵̠͑e̵̯͌ ̴͗ͅe̶͈̿ḷ̶̏s̴͎̉ḛ̴̛.̶̩͋_**

“Remus! Where did you put my notebook?” Roman asked.

“I think it’s in the bathroom,” said Remus. “We were out of toilet paper...”

“Gross!” Roman rushed off and returned with his notebook and a sanitary wipe.

“Why do you need it so bad?” Remus asked.

“I have an idea for a story and I need to write this down,” Roman said, opening the notebook. “Before I forget it.”

“Got a twitchy pencil, huh?” Remus chuckled. “I don’t envy you. So you’ll be here for the next... two hours?”

“Three,” Roman started writing. “Go find something else to entertain you.”

“You’re no fun,” Remus sighed as he got up. “I’m gonna go play with Logan.”

“Don’t make a mess like last time,” Roman said. “Dark still glares at us because of what you did last time...”

Remus gave a dismissive wave as he left the room.

_**The Audience goes s̷̼͚̈́̌́̚͠ơ̵͉̓̓́m̸͍̋̐̀͛͠e̶̱͉̝̖̅͒̕͝w̵̙̲̰̎h̶̥̉̈̈́e̶̱̳͖̳̼̔̇̚r̶̡̺̗̦͔̈́̀̈͠e̶͙͐̈́ ̵̡͎̻̎e̶̛̹̖̋͌̐́l̶̙̝̩͉̈s̶͓̝̰̒̔͘ĕ̷̩͇̹̏̚ͅ** _

It was the next morning and Jackie nervously entered the room that Henrik had claimed as his office of sorts. He was busy doing paperwork at his desk.

“Hey Henrik?” He asked. “Can I talk to you?”

“Jackie!” Henrik smiled and gestured for him to sit down. “Sure, what’s the problem.”

“I...” Jackie sat down and began to fidget with his hoodie strings. “Um... I think I might be... seeing things.”

“Seeing things?” Henrik raised an eyebrow. “What are you seeing?”

“Um... faces,” said Jackie. “Eyes. These weird... shadow looking people. And... And I can hear them sometimes too.”

“What do they say to you?” Henrik leaned forward, looking curious.

“They sort of... greet me...” Jackie said slowly. “And... a few of them said that they aren’t ghosts, they’re... beings. Or humans...”

He hesitated. How much should he tell Henrik? He was still trying to decide if this was real or some sort of hallucination The Actor had implanted in his brain. He’d seen it before in comic books, it couldn’t be that much of a stretch for the Actor to be able to do it.

“They um...” Jackie wrapped a hoodie string around his finger. “They say that I can trust them and they want to help. And one of them mentioned Dawktrap.”

“Dawktrap?” Henrik’s eyes widened.

“Yeah,” said Jackie. “They said that they wanted to go to him. I think they might know where he is or what happened.”

Henrik’s eyes narrowed and he reached over to press the back of his hand against Jackie’s forehead. Jackie looked up with confusion in his eyes.

“You do not feel as though you have a fever,” said Henrik. “Are you taking any sort of medication?”

“Um... no?” Jackie said.

“Are you taking any sort of... recreational drugs?” Henrik asked.

“What?!” Jackie yelped. “No!”

“It is not my place to judge, it is my place to keep you healthy,” Henrik said.

“I’m not doing drugs,” said Jackie. “Henrik... I’m getting scared. I don’t think these... people... are hallucinations. I think something bigger is happening here, and I think it’s tied to Dawktrap somehow.”

“Have you spoken to Marvin about this?” Henrik asked. “It sounds more magical than medical.”

“Not yet,” Jackie said. “He’s busy talking to Blank about his phone. I just... wanted to cover all my bases is all.”

“Hmm...” Henrik adjusted his glasses. “Well... I would normally be concerned, but I have seen my share of the strange and unusual over the last few months. Perhaps... it’s worth looking into.”

Jackie said nothing, glancing off to the side.

“Jackie?” Henrik sounded confused.

“They’re here,” Jackie said softly. “They’re here.” He gave an awkward wave. **“Um... hi guys.”**

Henrik looked to the side as well, but saw nothing. He looked back at Jackie and weighed his options. Normally he would start Jackie on some medication and therapy, try to find the root of the problem. But... maybe Jackie was right. Maybe something was there. Maybe they were communicating with him in some way.

Either way, it went far past his own knowledge...

“Go find Marvin,” he said. “Wait until he’s free. Tell him what you told me and see what he says. In the meantime, remember your manners and... be polite to the... shadow beings. It’s probably not a good idea to make them mad...”

“Do you believe me?” Jackie looked at him. “I swear I’m not crazy.”

“I believe you,” Henrik said. “You are not the type to lie for attention or do drugs. But I really do not have any experience in this field. If it’s that urgent, maybe you can call Phantom. He might know.”

“Right,” Jackie nodded. “I’ll... I’ll go see what Marvin’s up to. Thanks for listening, Henrik. And... and for believing me.”

“My office is always open,” Henrik smiled. “Don’t hesitate to speak to me if you need it. Like I said, I am not here to judge you. I am only here to make sure you are healthy.”

**I think we should go see what someone else is doing-**

**Wait.**

**What are you doing?**

**Ŝ̷̨̬͈̙̣̥͕̟͔̬̗̩̼̱͜ͅẗ̸̛̰͇̭͔͈̣̱̤̥͎͚́̊͛͑̎̌̿͝ͅő̴̢̧̨̙̙̪̺̯̞͖̹̺̗̣̟̳͇̳͚̞̻͍̌̎̈́̃͂͊͌̏̌̕͘͝p̶̣͓̩͓̲͈͐̑̇̽̏̄͒̃̿̊̎͘!̶̝̲͓͒̋͑́̐̈̑̈̍͂̂̐̈́̇̄̂̈́̈́͑̅̄̚͠**   
**̶̥̪͇̺͕̀̄͂̇̏̐̑̐̈́͘͝**   
**̸̺̐͑̋̉̓̕͠**   
**̴̢͇̑̂̐̈́̇͊̑͝**   
**̷̧̬̳͙͙̳̜̭̼̭͓̗͚͚͉̐̔̈̈́̈́̇̏̋̄͘͘**   
**̶̡̡̙̱͖̹͇̪͓̺̝̺̮̳̰͙̝̏̈́́͊̇͜͜**   
**̷͇̪̦̖̜͖̤͓̬̥̳̅̇͛͘͠**   
**̸̤̂͆͐́̉̾̓̋̀͒̅́͗̆̐͛͠͝**   
**̶̧̤͕̭̋̏̊̓͐̊͘̚͝͠ͅ.̷̡̦̩̯̼̩̦̘̟̙̗̘̱͇̮̙̙͑́͊͑̑͂͂̈̓̐̊̂̒̏͘̚͘͝͝.̶̧̧̛͉͕̰̥̦̲̠.̵̤̼̓͝**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found you, Narrator...


	19. The Open Door

Dawktrap had no idea what was going on.

What he did know was that he’d been doing just fine shuffling through realities like a pack of cards only to be snagged by the very man he’d been looking for.

Well, one of them anyway...

The Narrator... something was wrong with him. Dawktrap could tell. He was quite adept at determining if something or someone was infected somehow, and Narrator ticked every box. Narrator had tried to trap him, and Dawktrap had almost made it out, but his connection had been disrupted.

Someone had removed his headset...

Dawktrap wasn’t angry at them, though. He probably did look like a mess because of what Narrator had done. Whoever had found him must have assumed the worst. Dawktrap actually felt pretty loved that someone had tried to help him. But now he was stuck.

And he had never seen this reality before...

This place... felt wrong. He felt wrong for being here as if his presence was against some sort of unknown law. As if him being there was throwing everything out of balance. This reality made his skin crawl and his aura writhe. He did not want to be here any longer than he had to be.

“Any ideas for escaping?” He asked Wilford again.

Wilford, to his credit, had been a big help. He'd explained as much as he could to Dawktrap about where they were. He called it ’Behind the Curtain’. He spoke of a group called The Audience and of a strange little dog. Dawktrap... wasn’t sure what to make of it. But Wilford sounded like he knew what he was talking about, and Dawktrap had always suspected that Wilford had abilities the others couldn’t comprehend. He would just ask Wilford to clarify later...

“We can’t,” said Wilford. “We have to wait.”

“Wait until what?” Dawktrap asked.

“Until we’re told to go back,” Wilford sighed.

“Told to?” Dawktrap threw his arms into the air. “By who?”

Wilford fixed Dawktrap with a look that was almost scary in a way. It was a look that said that Wilford was lucid.

“Listen,” he said. “Author is messing with powers that he cannot even begin to understand. Powers that will eventually destroy him. He is going up against someone who is far more powerful than anyone in this world. He wants to take control from them, and his attempts will only cause trouble for the rest of us.”

“More powerful than Unus and Annus?” Dawktrap’s eyes widened.

“More powerful than them,” Wilford agreed. “Far... far... more powerful. We’ll have to wait until we can get sent back. When we do, we’ll need to tell Dark everything we know. Let's just hope Author doesn’t find us again. He might try to suppress us...”

“What’s wrong with him anyway?” Dawktrap mused. “He seemed so calm at first. Sure, he was a little cranky on some days, but... now it’s like he’s completely lost his mind.”

“I don’t know,” Wilford sighed again. “I can only imagine how broken that man’s mind is after everything that’s happened-”

He fell silent when a door suddenly appeared in front of them. The door looked harmless enough, but Dawktrap was understandably suspicious.

“What is that?” he asked.

“That...” Wilford smiled. “Is our way out. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Dawktrap stopped him. “It might be a trick. That’s way too convenient.”

“No, that’s the power of a corgi,” Wilford said. “Come on.”

He opened the door and dragged Dawktrap through it...

Dawktrap woke up with a gasp and sat up in the hospital bed. He panted against the nausea that was rolling in his stomach and noticed that Wilford was still holding his hand. They both heard someone shout and looked up to see Dr. Iplier drop an armful of medical supplies as he stared at them both with wide eyes.

“You’re awake!” He pointed at Dawktrap and Wilford. “And you’re back! I... I need...” he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Darkiplier with shaking hands.

**ELSEWHERE**

“That’s odd, it seems to be working just fine now,” Marvin frowned as he tapped at his phone.

“Really?” Blank said on the other line. Marvin had borrowed Chase’s phone. “Well, as long as it’s working, I guess...”

“Thanks for your help anyway, Blank,” Marvin smiled. “You should come visit us. We’d love to have you over for dinner.”

“I dunno,” Blank sounded strained. “I mean... there’s a lot of people in your house...”

“Well, maybe you and I can do lunch or something,” Marvin shrugged. “At your place.”

“That does sound better,” Blank said. “But call me if you need anything else.”

Marvin ended the call and tested his phone out to be sure. It seemed to be working just fine.

“Marvin!”

Marvin spun around to see Jacques weakly leaning against the doorway, mouth smeared with color.

“Marvin... my order was delayed... _s'il vous plaît..._ I need a canvas,” he said, looking feverish.

Marvin quickly gathered his magic and conjured a large canvas. He handed it off, and Jacques quickly took it.

 _“Merci beaucoup!”_ He said, rushing up the stairs to his studio. Marvin followed after him.

“Jacques!” He heard Jacques get sick and saw a puddle of paint on the floor. “Jacques?”

“I’m sorry,” Jacques said, setting up his canvas and grabbing his paints. “I will clean it later. I just... I need...”

He hurriedly started mixing his paints. He pressed one of his hands to the canvas and Marvin stared as he saw the canvas absorb what looked like blood.

“What are you doing?” He asked, walking closer.

“Preparing my canvas,” Jacques said. “I have to prepare it before I can paint...”

His paintbrush fell from his shaking hand and he quickly stooped to pick it back up.

“Every artist puts their blood into their work...” he said as he began to paint.

Marvin stared, sensing the magic coming from the canvas. He’d never seen anything like this.

“I thought this only happened after you had a dream,” he said.

“Usually it does,” Jacques said. “But inspiration can strike at any time, and the sickness can set in swiftly. I ordered some supplies, and they should have been here yesterday, but the delivery has been delayed. Next time, I will just go to the shop...”

Marvin silently nodded, watching Jacques move around.

“Mind if I watch?” He asked.

 _“Bien sûr,”_ said Jacques. “If you’d like to.”

Marvin conjured a chair and settled down to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that there's been problems with this story. I think I've managed to fix things, and I'm hoping we don't have anymore problems like that in the future. Thanks for hanging in there with me, guys. XD


	20. The (Real) Author's Note

I’m so sorry guys, but updates may be a little slow. I had a good bulk of the story planned out, but a certain someone ruined everything and it’s not like I can go back and change what he did without making a bigger mess. He completely derailed the story.

I’ll just need a little bit of time to figure out where this story is going to go now and then I’ll be right back to frequent updates. Please bear with me and thank you all for your patience and your kind words.

**Why not ask them for ideas?**

Wilford? I thought you’d want to stay away from this area for a while after what happened.

**Nonsense, a good talk show host is never afraid to address his audience.**

And a good writer comes up with their own ideas. Besides, I’ve barely been able to put in any plot because _someone_ tried to mutiny.

**Well then, I’m sure the beloved Audience won’t mind answering just a few questions. A survey of sorts! Just something to test the air temperature so to speak.**

Ugh, fine. Not like I can really stop you anyway. You can ask them your questions, but I have to get going.

**Off to chase your tail, little corgi?**

...Corgis don’t have tails.

**I know, it was a joke. See you later!**

**Now that we’re alone... let’s begin!**

**Good evening ladies and gentlemen and all other configurations of being! My name is Wilford Warfstache, and welcome to Break That Fourth Wall!**

**It’s an easy episode for you today, just a few questions to answer and then you can be on your merry way.**

**There are no right or wrong answers, and you do not have to answer anything if you do not want to. You can just leave a few words or some lovely kudos if you’d prefer.**

**Question 1!**

**What have you enjoyed about this harrowing tale so far?**

**Question 2!**

**Rate my magnificent mustache on a scale of 1 to 1000**

**Question 3!**

**Which character is your favorite?**

**Question 4!**

**Who would you like to see more of?**

**Bonus Question!**

**Do I look better with long hair or short? I’ve been thinking of getting a trim, but I wanted to get a second opinion first...**

**And that’s it! Please post your comments below and thank you all for playing!**


	21. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some filler for now. I'm still trying to get the plot back on track.

**“Thank you for your answers, they have all been noted,”** Wilford smiled.

“Wilford, who are you talking to?” Dark asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wilford summoned his pink afro and put it on. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“What even happened?” Dark asked. “You just vanished.”

“I went behind the curtain,” Wilford smiled. “But that doesn’t matter now. From what I know, the Narrator has been apprehended.”

“By who?” Dark asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wilford gave a dismissive wave.

“Don’t tell me not to worry about it!” Dark stood up and slammed a fist against his desk. “You keep telling me that, but I need to know what you’re talking about. If this is something important to everyone’s wellbeing, then tell me!”

Wilford gave Dark a long look and weighed his options. The knowledge he had... was a bit earth shattering. It would change everything with Dark. And once he knew. He would not be able to give it back and go back to the way things were...

“Are you sure you want to know?” Wilford asked. “Once I tell you, there will be no going back. You will have to suffer the consequences...”

Dark narrowed his eyes and then suddenly looked unsure.

“Is it... is it really that big?” he asked.

“This knowledge will change your life and the entire world around you,” said Wilford. “Which reminds me... I need to speak to Jackie. He learned about it and now they’re worried about him. I was supposed to talk to him sooner, but then Narrator captured me.”

“Jackie?” Dark asked. “The superhero? What does he have to do with anything?”

“He knows,” said Wilford. “He knows exactly what you want to know, and it’s... well... he’s not taking it well. I daresay it’s a wonder how his mind didn’t break like mine. Or maybe my mind broke before I learned the truth.”

“What truth?” Dark asked.

A door suddenly appeared in the room, causing Dark to fall silent. Him and Wilford stared at the door, wondering where it had come from. Before they could say anything, the door opened, and someone fell out.

It was Narrator. He was tied tightly with rope and gagged with a bit of duct tape. A note was pinned to his shirt. Dark stared in shock as the door vanished again, but Wilford strode over just as casual as ever. He took the note and read it over.

 _Do not let him get away again,_ it read. _He has done enough damage to the story. If it happens again, you will not like the consequences._

It was not signed.

“What is it?” Dark asked, reaching for the note.

Wilford promptly crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he chewed. “Let’s get him to Dr. Iplier for a checkup. I highly doubt that what happened was any good for his health...”

“Here,” Remus smiled. “For you...”

Eric stared at the creature with wide eyes. It looked like a cross between a bear and a lion and had way too many jagged teeth and eyes.

“F-For me?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Remus beamed. “A service animal to help you with your anxiety.”

Eric was tempted to say that the creature was actually increasing his anxiety as opposed to helping it, but he stayed silent.

“I know he looks pretty scary,” said Remus. “But he won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt anyone unless they’re threatening you, I promise. Come give him some pets, he loves those.”

Eric drew back nervously, the creature watching him with all four of his eyes. Eric did not want to put his hand anyone near that thing. He already had prosthetic feet, after all. He did not want a prosthetic hand to go with it...

But Remus must have worked hard on him, and Remus had never tried to hurt him before...

Eric slowly reached his hand out, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the worst.

He felt a cold nose nudge at his fingers and then a warm tongue licked at them. Eric opened his eyes slightly to see the creature nudging at his hand, demanding to be pet. Eric ran his fingers through the creature’s fur and marveled over how soft it was. The creature made a few strange noises that sounded happy and leaned in to Eric’s touch.

“See?” Remus smiled. “He’s a good boy. Won’t hurt you at all. And he’s trained to recognize the signs of a panic attack. He’ll try to help calm you down or lead you away from what’s stressing you out. And if all else fails, he’ll help ground you when you need it.”

“What’s his name?” Eric knelt down and used both hands to scratch the creature’s long tufted ears.

“He doesn’t have one,” Remus shrugged. “You choose one.”

“Um... Sprinkles,” said Eric. “His name is Sprinkles.”

“Great,” said Remus. “Why don’t you take him outside and play with him? Start bonding with him...”

“Ok,” Eric stood up. “Come on, Sprinkles. Let’s go.”

He walked off just as Remy walked up to Remus.

“He named that thing ‘Sprinkles’?” he asked.

“If Hades can name his dog Spot, Eric can name that thing Sprinkles,” said Remus. “Anyway, what do you want? You got that look in your eye...”

“I heard some good tea,” said Remy. “Apparently, the guy you messed up is carrying a grudge against some of the other egos. I’d watch my back if I was you.”

“Why is that?” Remus asked, casually picking his nose.

“Out of all of us, you have the biggest bullseye painted on your back,” said Remy.

“I doubt he can do much,” Remus grinned. “I left him completely broken. He was powerless. Can’t write a thing.”

“Still,” said Remy. “Watch out. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I have to go now, I have things to do.”

“Like go visit Dave?” Remus chuckled. “Why are you hanging out with him so much?”

“He doesn’t need to sleep,” Remy shrugged. “ _I’m_ Sleep. I want to know how he can survive without it.”

“Well don’t go scaring him off,” said Remus.

“How could I possibly scare him off?” Remy asked.

“By showing him your face,” Remus said.

He ran off laughing before Remy could punch him.


	22. The Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for stabbings and blood

Jackie heard a knock on his door and opened it to see Wilford standing on the other side.

“Wilford?” Jackie sounded surprised. “When did _you_ get here?”

“Just now,” Wilford smiled and entered Jackie’s room. “I was asked to speak to you about a sensitive subject.”

“Sensitive?” Jackie repeated as he closed the door.

“Yes,” Wilford said. “I was asked to speak to you about _them.”_

He pointed off to the side, and Jackie’s eyes widened when he realized what Wilford was pointing at. He slowly pointed as well, hoping that he was right in his assumption.

“You... You can see them too?” He asked quietly as if afraid that they would hear him.

“Yes,” Wilford gave a wave. “I can see them and hear them and speak to them too. They’re all rather fond of me. You should have seen the ratings they gave my mustache.”

“But... who _are_ they?” Jackie asked, sitting down on his bed.

“They are known as The Audience,” said Wilford. “They are... people who are fans of us.”

“Fans?” Jackie repeated. “Like the fans we had before we came here? Sean’s fans?”

“The very same,” said Wilford. “They see us, hear us, talk about us, cheer us on, feel sad when something bad happens. And if they’re lucky, they can even change our fates...”

“They can do all of that?” Jackie asked.

“Yes,” said Wilford. “And sometimes they can even walk among us. I... I feel as if I once saw that. I saw them walk among us, but... it was a very long time ago. My memory is very spotty from those days, so I can’t be entirely sure...”

“But how did they get there? Why are they here?” Jackie asked.

“Oh, well that is because of someone else,” said Wilford. “The one who holds all the power. The one that you do not want to anger or they will make your life hell.”

“Who?” Jackie’s eyes were wide.

“The corgi,” Wilford said.

The word sounded so silly, but Wilford had said it so ominously. Jackie had no idea if it was some kind of code for something else, or if Wilford was speaking literally.

What even _was_ a corgi?

“It’s a small dog,” said Wilford. “Very fluffy.”

“What?” Jackie stammered. “How... I-I didn’t... ask...?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Wilford slid an arm around Jackie’s shoulder. “The point is, The Audience is relatively harmless. And they all really like you. But you must be careful. It is a blessing and a curse to be a favorite of The Audience.”

“Wait,” Jackie shook his head. “Are we the only ones who can see them?”

“I’m pretty sure that Dawktrap can see them,” Wilford mused. “But only when he’s reality hopping. And I don’t think he knows who they are exactly. He just knows that one of them is a big time follower of his. I mean really... the amount of screaming and flailing they’ve done over him. You’d think he was the Beatles or something.”

“That’s amazing-” Jackie broke off when a loud crash suddenly came from down the hall. It was followed by a long string of angrily spoken French.

“What was that?” Wilford asked, sounding concerned.

“Jacques,” Jackie stood up.

“I’ve never heard that before...” Wilford followed after him.

“He’s upset,” Jackie walked down the hall to Jacques’s studio door. More French could be heard on the other side.

“Jacques?” Jackie opened the door and walked inside.

The table that had held Jacque’s paints had been flipped onto its side and the paints were all on the ground. Some had opened and spilled out, and his paintbrushes were scattered around the room. Jacques himself was still muttering furiously, glaring at the finished painting that sat on the easel.

The painting was of a mustached man in a very old beige uniform. He was wearing an odd pair of glasses and an old explorer’s hat.

“This damned thing!” Jacques suddenly shouted. “I cannot get it right! I have been working all day to correct it, but I cannot get it to look how I want it to.”

He spun around, revealing that he had several streaks of paint in his hair and his face was smeared with it too as if he’d run a paint covered hand down it in frustration over and over.

“What’s wrong with it?” Jackie asked. “It looks great.”

“The lighting is wrong,” Jacques said. “It is far too dark and it won’t brighten up. It’s also inconsistent. I will have to start over, I cannot sell this. To the trash with it- huh?”

Wilford had slowly walked over to the painting, staring at it with wide eyes. He reached out and carefully touched the face in the portrait, breath becoming shaky.

“I... I must have this,” he said. “How much do you want for it?”

 _“Quoi?”_ Jacques asked. “No. I will paint it again and you can have the better version I will... make...”

Wilford had started conjuring money from nowhere, showering Jacques with cash without looking away from the money. He then removed his gold chain and watch, and shoved them into Jacque’s paint splattered hands before picking up the portrait and carrying it from the room. Jackie heard Wilford teleport away and blinked in confusion.

“What was his problem?” He asked.

 _“Le fantôme dans la peinture,”_ said Jacques.

“Huh?” Jackie turned to look at him.

“The Ghost in the Painting,” said Jacques. “It’s a term we use to describe when someone seems haunted by a painting. That man was haunted. Maybe he knows who the man in the painting is...”

“You don’t know?” Jackie asked.

“Not a clue,” Jacques set the table back up. “But at least it’s gone now. I can work on something else...”

**ELSEWHERE**

_"I'm mad at Disney, Disney. They tricked me, tricked me. Had me wishing on a shooting star. But now I'm twenty-something, I still know nothing about who I am or what I'm not, So call me a pessimist, but I don't believe in it. Finding a true love's kiss is bullsh-chu!"_

Remus sniffled after his sneeze and wiped his nose with his hand. He went back to singing his song.

He was making himself some lunch in the kitchen. Everyone else was just sort of milling around the house or enjoying the weather outside. From the window, he could see a few egos playing volleyball with the meregos. The mermen were hitting the ball with their tails and MerChica was sunning herself on the waterfall fixture.

Remus was busy chopping some meat to season. He was still debating on if he wanted to cook it or just eat it raw. He could go for either one right now. He turned around to dig through the spice rack and then turned back to shake out some salt-

The knife was gone.

Remus slowly blinked and set the salt aside. He began to look around for the knife. Had it fallen somehow? Sometimes he didn’t really pay attention to what he was doing-

The knife fell from above and sliced a large gash into the side of Remus’s hand. Remus cried out in pain and jerked back, holding his injured hand close to his chest. The door to the kitchen slammed shut, and the curtains all suddenly closed to cover the windows.

Remus quickly summoned his morningstar, still able to wield it with one hand. He called for help, and then paled when he saw multiple knives rise out of the drawers and point at him. He called for help again and swung as the knives all came at him.

By the time someone heard him, and Captain Magnum was able to break down the door, the knives had stopped attacking and Remus was bleeding from multiple wounds...

**ELSEWHERE**

Narrator chuckled softly to himself. The duct tape that had covered his mouth was in pieces on the floor with only a few mangled and bitten pieces still sticking to his cheeks and chin.


	23. The Painting

“He did what?!” Marvin said into his phone.

“No one’s really sure because he’s not talking, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out,” Dawktrap said on the other line. “Dark’s asking if you could maybe come by and bring your doctor with you. He's trying to keep an angry mob away from The Narrator, and Dr. Iplier is requesting assistance. He wants Henrik to give Narrator an exam to see if he’s worth saving.”

“What do you mean?” Marivn asked as Jacques entered the kitchen with Jameson. The two were conversing softly, and Marvin was surprised to see that Jameson’s speech slides were in French.

“Dark is going to have to make a decision soon,” Dawktrap said gravely. “But he wants to make an informed one. He wants Narrator examined to see if there’s any hope for him. If there is, we’ll figure something out, but if there isn’t...”

The implication hung heavy in the air.

“I...” Marvin sighed. “This whole thing is a mess...”

“Tell me about it,” said Dawktrap. “I thought the Bite of ‘87 was bad, but this takes the whole pizza pie. Look, I do hate to be the one to give you this news, but Dark is a bit overwhelmed. Remus’s family want Narrator dead for what he did. Roman hasn’t sheathed his sword and keeps pacing outside the barrier Dark set up. The purple one and snake one are there with him, and they both look like they want to murder someone. So you can understand this is a bit of a pressing issue, so if you could come as soon as possible...”

“No, we’ll be there,” said Marvin. “I think Henrik is getting off work soon, so I’ll grab him and we’ll come over.”

“Good. We’ll see you then,” Dawktrap said.

Marvin ended the call and sighed. This whole thing was such a mess. It was interesting how he could be an entire ocean away and still be getting dragged into the affairs of the Ipliers.

 **Marvin, are you ok?** Jameson looked concerned.

“Something awful’s happened,” Marvin said. “Remember Author? He attacked Remus.”

 **Oh dear,** Jameson’s eyes widened. **Is he ok?**

“He’ll live, but he’s in bad shape,” Marvin said. “They’re asking for me to bring Henrik over to help out.”

“Forgive me...” Jacques looked between them. “But... what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marvin realized. “You weren’t here for all that.”

He sat Jacques down and gave him a quick explanation of how it all started. How Sean had sent him to find the others, how they’d met Unus, who the Actor and Author were, and everything else he could think of.

“Remus was the one who took away the Author’s ability to write,” Marvin eventually concluded. “That’s why Narrator attacked him. He wanted revenge.”

Jacques stared at him.

“The man is a writer,” he said slowly. “And Remus took away his ability to write?”

“Yeah,” Marvin nodded.

“The man... is a _writer,”_ Jacques repeated. “And Remus took away his ability _to write.”_

“That’s... what I said,” Marvin sounded confused.

“The man... _is a writer,”_ Jacques spoke louder as if he was trying to get Marvin to realize something. “And Remus _took away his ability to write.”_

“Ok, where are you going with this?” Marvin asked. “Because I'm not understanding.”

“Clearly not,” Jacques said. “Clearly none of you understand. When you leave, you take me with you. I think I know what’s wrong with him, but I need to see him first.”

“Wait, what?” Marvin said as Jacques stood up to leave. “How can you know what’s wrong?”

“I am an artist,” said Jacques. “I understand.”

**ELSEWHERE**

“Wilford?” Dark opened Wilford’s door and peered inside. “Are you ok? You’ve been in here all day-”

He froze when he noticed the painting that was hanging on the wall. It was of The Colonel. A name that Wilford had long since forgotten save for a few lucid moments. Dark had no idea where it had come from or how Wilford had gotten it...

Wilford himself was sitting on his bed, hunched over and eyes locked onto the painting. His pink afro had been removed, and his eyes were scarily focused.

“Wilford, have... have you been staring at this the whole time?” Dark asked. “I don’t think this is good for you...”

He walked closer to the painting and grabbed it so that he could remove it from the wall.

He heard a click behind him, and his eyes widened.

“Put it back,” he heard Wilford say in a tone that Dark had not heard in decades. “Do not touch it...”

Dark inhaled slowly and did as he was asked, letting the painting settle back against the wall. He slowly stepped away and heard Wilford put the safety back on his gun.

When he looked at Wilford again, his prized revolver was in his hand, but it was pointed off to the side at the wall.

“Wilford, what’s wrong?” Dark asked. “Why are you so focused on this painting?”

Maybe he could convince Wilford to get rid of it...

Wilford said nothing for a moment, and then he finally looked away to glance at Dark.

“Do you know who this man is?” He asked. “I feel like you know... and that’s why you want me to get rid of it.”

“Wilford,” Dark sighed. “I want to get rid of it because you’ve been sitting in here and staring at it all day. It’s not good for you-”

“Why?” Wilford asked. “Why is it not good for me? Be honest, you know who this is, don’t you? I feel like I should know him, and it’s been clawing at the back of my mind ever since I first saw it. I should know who this man is, but I don’t.”

“Wilford, it’s not important,” said Dark.

“That means that it _is_ important!” Wilford snapped. “Tell me who this man is!”

“Wilford-” Dark tried to calm the other down.

“Tell me who he is, or you will never know about The Audience and you will stumble around blindly for the rest of your existence,” said Wilford.

Dark’s eyes widened as Wilford’s words registered in his mind. He needed to know what Wilford had always been referring to if only for everyone’s safety, but he couldn’t tell Wilford the truth. How much more damage would it do to him?

**ELSEWHERE**

Madpat sighed as he got off the bus. That had been a very long ride, but it had given him time to think. He set off down the sidewalk, still feeling nervous about where he was going. Matt had wanted to talk to him again, and this time Madpat had wanted to go alone.

He could only help he would not regret his decision...


	24. The Matters of Heart and Soul

Henrik didn’t really know what he was looking for.

Narrator just glared at him while he was being examined. They had decided to wrap cloth around his mouth instead of using duct tape this time, so he was effectively muted. Henrik wasn’t all that afraid of him, even after seeing Remus’s injuries. Remus had been stabbed multiple times, but...

Oddly enough, none of them had even been close to being fatal...

But Henrik was not going to be able to get much more data without a few brain scans. If it was neurological, it could be fixed by him or Dr. Iplier. If it was psychological, that was going to be trickier. But maybe Henrik could prescribe some medication...

Either way, Henrik couldn’t give an accurate diagnosis or decision until he’d run some tests on Narrator.

Henrik exited the room and glanced at where Roman, Virgil, and Janus were all waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Well?” Dark asked. “What do you think?”

“I cannot say,” Henrik shook his head. “I would need to run tests first. The brain is a very delicate organ, and problems can stem from many different areas. I’d have to narrow it down before we could begin any sort of treatment. And that doesn’t even cover any psychological problems...”

Dark sighed and ran a hand down his face. Virgil hissed from across the room.

“Just give us the word, Dark,” he said. “We’ll take care of him.”

“You three leave now,” Dark snarled. “You are not helping in the slightest.”

“He attacked my brother-” Roman protested.

“Leave!” Dark snapped. “Or I will make you.”

Roman opened his mouth as if to talk back, but Janus put a hand on his shoulder. He silently gestured for them to start walking, and they all made their way down the hall. Roman threw one last glare over his shoulder before he disappeared.

“Tell me honestly,” Dark said softly. “In your professional opinion... should he be allowed to live?”

Henrik narrowed his eyes at Dark.

“I take my oaths very seriously,” he said. “I am sworn to do no harm. If you want to kill him, you will have to find someone else.”

“I just...” Dark fell silent, blue outline shining around him. “I have a duty to the egos in this house. I promised to keep them safe. We spared him and he attacked Remus and kidnapped Wilford and Dawktrap. I don’t want to kill him, but I will if I must...”

“Let me through! Let me see him!”

Dark and Henrik looked over to see Jacques striding down the hallway with Marvin at his side.

“Who’s this?” Dark asked.

“I am Jacques Septique,” said Jacques. “I am here to examine _Le Narrateur.”_

“He’s already been examined by a doctor,” said Dark.

“I am not a doctor,” said Jacques. “I am an artist. And I think I know what’s wrong with him.”

“How could you possibly know?” Henrik asked. “I can’t even tell.”

“Art and science are two different things,” Jacques shook his head. “You know the matters of the mind, but not the heart. Not the soul. That is my specialty. Please, let me see him. Marvin can come with me if you are worried...”

“What have you got to lose, Dark?” Marvin asked.

Dark sighed and shook his head. He gestured to the door, and Jacques moved to open it.

“Slow movements, Marvin,” said Jacques.

Marvin opened his mouth to question Jacques’s words, but Jacques was already opening the door, so he stayed silent. Narrator watched them as they entered, eyes narrowed and silent.

Marvin hung back, but Jacques moved forward without fear. He looked carefully into Narrator’s eyes and tilted his head slightly.

“You say he’s lashed out?” Jacques asked. “Attacked people? _Oui_... I can see it in his eyes.”

“See what?” Marvin asked.

“He has the sickness,” said Jacques. “The Art Sickness.”

“You mentioned that before,” Marvin said. “What is it exactly?”

Jacques sighed.

“It is a horrible thing,” he explained. “A sickness that causes great pain in every way. The mind goes faster and faster and never stops, the hands ache and itch and twitch. Then the mind starts to unravel.”

He frowned and glanced at Marvin.

“I contracted it shorty after appearing here,” he said. “I did not have art supplies or money for them. I caught the sickness and nearly died from it.”

“It’s fatal?” Marvin’s eyes widened.

“Sometimes,” said Jacques. “Some lose their mind and slowly wither away. Some choose to end their own lives. I only survived because I became desperate. I cut my fingers and painted pictures on the walls of buildings or the subway stations. Only then was I able to recover enough to earn money for supplies.”

“You get it when you don’t paint enough?” Marvin asked. “So you think he’s got the same thing?”

“I know he does,” said Jacques. “I was able to recover because I still had my skills, but this man has little to no hope left if he cannot write.”

“I think Dark mentioned that his power is in his voice now,” Marvin mused.

Jacques blinked and smacked his forehead.

“Of course!” he said. “Of course it would. Lucky bastard, my talent did not mutate at all. You must have been really suffering for such a thing to happen...”

He moved behind Narrator and began to undo the knot that held the gag in place.

“Wait, hold up!” Marvin stopped him. “What are you doing?”

“If his talent mutated, then there is hope for him,” said Jacques. “He is a writer, but he cannot write. But he can still tell stories. He only needs an audience to listen to him...”

He undid the cloth and Narrator coughed and wheezed.

“You...” Narrator opened his mouth to say something.

“Tell me a story,” Jacques interrupted. “I like fantasy. With a twist ending. Or a lesson to be learned. Those are the best.

“A... w-what?” Narrator seemed surprised and confused at the same time. “Y-You want me to...”

“Tell us a story,” Jacques said, sitting on the ground. “Please?”

Marvin glanced between the two and slowly sat down next to Jacques. Narrator blinked as if Jacques’s words were slowly getting through to him. Tears welled up in his eyes and he smiled... almost looking relieved.

“W-well...” Narrator began. “There was... there was once a young man who fell in love with a princess. But... but there were plenty of suitors who wanted her hand in marriage. She... she liked to... she liked to knit! So she said whoever could bring her the softest material for her to knit with... he would get to marry her. So... so the young man... he... he climbed a nearby mountain where a giant and monstrous spider lived. He asked the spider for some of its silk to gift to the princess. The spider said it would spin the young man some yarn made of its silk, but the young man had to clean its web. For three days and nights, the young man cleaned the spider’s web...”

Marvin was surprised to find that he was actually enjoying Narrator’s story. He glanced at Jacques to see the other was smiling and eagerly paying attention to Narrator...

**ELSEWHERE**

“It’s just us?” Madpat asked as he looked around. Matt was nowhere to be seen.

“I wanted to talk to you in private,” Stephanie said as she sat down. She gestured for Madpat to do the same. “I was just... thinking about how similar you and Matt are. You have similar smiles, similar laughs...”

Madpat chuckled, smiling brightly.

“You also look the same when you lie,” Stephanie said, her smile vanishing.

Madpat’s eyes widened. This... this was not good.

“Madpat, I am not judging you,” Stephanie said. “But my family comes first. If you are lying to me, I need to know why. I need to know the truth. Because if I cannot trust you... I don’t want anything to do with you. I won’t risk the lives of my husband or son...”

“I...” Madpat felt himself starting to panic. “I-I just...”

“You were lying when you talked about what you did before you met the others,” said Stephanie. “Tell me the truth. What did you do before you met Shawn?”


	25. The Stories

“I...” Madpat closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

This is what he’d been worried about in the first place, but he had to tell the truth. Lying would not help him, especially since Stephanie could tell. He would have to share each painful detail and hope that she understood.

“When I came to this world...” Madpat started slowly. “I... I was alone. I was positive that Matt had no idea of my existence, especially since I’m not... one of his canon egos. I was created by his fans, and that was it. The problem with that is... without a canon existence, I had no backstory or any kind of... of set personality. I was made up of dozens of ideas and headcanons and... and theories. And they were all at war within me, telling me to act and feel so many different ways... It was scary to be alone, to know so little about this world and... to know even less about myself...”

He glanced at Stephanie, but her expression was neutral. He had no idea what she was thinking...

“After some time of being alone and trying to survive... I was approached by another ego,” Madpat continued. “He... he told me he could help me figure out who I was. He would help me become more than just a jumbled mess of theories and ideas. I even had to choose my own name,” he gave a humorless chuckle. “I had to choose it because Matt’s fans couldn’t agree on what my name was...”

He paused for a second, feeling his hands start to shake as he approached the things he did not want to talk about. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Stephanie anymore, looking down at the shaking hands in his lap.

He took another deep breath...

“Wh-while I was with h-him...” Madpat cleared his throat. “I-I... I was... h-he... he asked me to help him with his plans. They... they were not good plans. He never told me what they were exactly, but I could tell. So he... he gave me...other e-egos, a-a-and...”

He choked. He was going to be sick. He was going to vomit right on their nice living room rug. Either that, or he was going to pass out. His body seemed to still be trying to figure out which one to do. His breathing was getting much harder, and he felt tears welling in his eyes. He did not want to keep going. He wanted to get up and run, he wanted to-

“And?” Stephanie prompted.

Madpat closed his eyes again, crying into his hands.

“I experim-mented on them,” he said in a small voice. “I-I hurt them... over and o-over. And I-I... I enjoyed it. I l-let the other ego f-feed my w-worst traits... in the name of g-gaining the knowledge that I was s-s-so desperate for...”

He gripped his hands tightly, curling over himself in a pain.

“Anytime I... I disobeyed.... h-he would hurt me. He w-would... he would punish me. I had s-so many scars. I had nightmares... I couldn’t eat... I couldn’t s-sleep... I didn’t know wh-what else to d-do...” he was breathing heavily now, trying to keep himself calm and conscious. He really did not feel well...

“Did you stop hurting people when you met Shawn?” Stephanie asked. “When Annus got ahold of you?”

“Yes!” Madpat looked up. “I never wanted to hurt anyone after that. Except for the Actor. And I haven’t hurt anyone since...”

Stephanie held his gaze, looking for any signs that he was lying. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and slowly took a deep breath.

“Please leave,” she said.

“Wh-what?” Madpat’s eyes widened.

“I need to talk this over with Matt,” said Stephanie. “We have a lot to talk about and decide...”

Madpat tried to speak a few times, but he couldn’t. He nodded instead, standing up and leaving the house without another word.

He felt numb as he walked down the street. It was getting dark and cold, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to feel. Part of him felt devastated that he’d finally connected with his creator only to possibly have that ruined. And he’d have no one to blame for himself. He was the one who had hurt the egos in the past. He’d deserve it if Stephanie and Matt told him to never come back. They had a family, after all. A family that they loved and wanted to keep safe.

The sun had completely set by the time Madpat came back to himself. He realized how cold he was... he’d left his jacket at Stephanie and Matt’s house. He shivered in the cold air and fished his phone from his pocket. He dialed the only number he wanted to call at the time and waited for an answer.

“Hatter?” Shawn answered the phone. “What’s wrong?”

**ELSEWHERE**

“The spider gave the young man some of its silk, but it also gave a warning. _‘My silk is not meant to be used by humans’,_ it said. _‘You must be careful’._ But the young man still took the silk back to the palace and offered it to the princess. She spun the silk into thick threads and wove them together to create a beautiful and very soft shawl.”

“And then what happened?” Jacques asked. “Did she marry him?”

“No,” Narrator shook his head. “She wanted more. She told him to bring her more silk because she couldn’t decide if it was worth her hand in marriage. So the young man went back and asked the spider for more. Again, he was tasked to clean part of the spider’s web. For another three days and nights, he carefully cleaned the web of rocks and bones and heavy trees. Again, the spider gave him some silk and once again warned him. _‘My silk is not meant to be used by humans. You must be careful’._ The young man took the silk to the princess, and she once again spun it and wove with it. She made a pair of gloves and stockings.”

“Did she marry him then?” Marvin asked. He had to admit... he was hooked by the story. Narrator really had a gift...

“Nope,” Narrator chuckled as he shook his head. “She still could not decide. So she asked for even more. She wanted an even bigger amount. Enough for her to weave a wedding dress and a veil. So the young man once again went back to the spider. This time, he was tasked to clear the spider’s entire web. This took him seven days and seven nights of climbing around the mountain and hiking down its trails to clear the entire web. But the spider gave him the silk he needed. He once again was warned. _‘My silk is not meant to be used by humans. You must be careful’._ But the young man still went back to the princess and gave her the silk. She spun it and then wove into a beautiful wedding dress and veil. She stood in front a mirror wearing all of her creations, and was dazzled by the beauty of them.”

“And then they got married,” said Jacques. “They had to. She has the full outfit now.”

Narrator was still smiling as he again shook his head. Jacques groaned loudly.

“Why not?” he asked. “What did she say this time?”

“She said she needed to think about it,” said Narrator. “So she sent him away to think. Every day, the young man went back to the palace to ask if the princess had made her decision yet. Each time, he was told that she had not. After another week, the guards told him that the princess had not spoken to anyone and no one knew what her decision was. Angry at her silence after he had worked so hard to woo her... the young man used some silk he had kept for himself to weave a strong rope. He used it to climb up the side of the palace and onto the princess’s balcony. It took him a lot of effort to open the door since it seemed to be covered in something on the inside...”

Jacques gasped and covered his mouth.

“The prince opened the door, but could not see in the dark room,” said Narrator. “The windows had all been covered too, and the floor was covered in something sticky. He struck a match and saw eight shiny eyes staring back at him from across the room...”

Marvin gasped now, leaning forward in excitement.

“The prince saw a giant spider in the room,” said Narrator. “A spider that was wearing the ripped and torn remains of a familiar wedding dress and veil. The prince tried to run, but the stuff on the floor turned out to be the spider’s webbing, and he was stuck. The spider killed him... and then ate him.”

Marvin and Jacques were both speechless.

“The young man’s cries alerted the guards, and they came to investigate,” Narrator said. “When they saw the spider, they killed it with their spears. The king came to see what had happened and recognized the dress the spider was wearing. The guards were sworn to secrecy and the people of the kingdom were told that the princess and the young man had run off to get married. They sealed the princess’s bedroom... and her secret was never told. But someone knew what had happened: the spider who still lived on top of the mountain. _‘A pity’,_ said the spider. _‘If only he had heeded my warning...’._ The end.”

Marvin and Jacques were silent with shock... and then Jacques started clapping.

 _“Magnifique!”_ He stood up and kept clapping. _“Un conte magnifiquement conçu! Vous êtes vraiment talentueux!”_

“That was really good,” Marvin stood up too.

Narrator sighed deeply, feeling much better than he had in a very very long time...


	26. The Artist's Wrath

“Are you freaking serious?!” Dark asked.

 _“Oui,”_ Jacques looked unimpressed. “This whole time you could have helped him, but you did not. Because you are all idiots.”

“Excuse me?!” Henrik asked.

“It had to be said, Henrik. I am sorry,” Jacques shook his head. “None of you understand the pain that was inflicted on him because no one else here is an artist. Perhaps I cannot blame you for your ignorance, but I can blame you for not trying to find the right help.”

“How were we to know?!” Dark protested.

“Indeed,” Jacques said. “How _were_ you to know? How were you to know when the only people you spoke to were doctors? Did you even once try to speak to someone else? Get someone else’s opinion? We are not completely human, _Monsieur,_ we are egos. We are different. We need different things. He needs an outlet for his talents, and you saw what happened when he had none, they mutated.”

“So... what, we have someone go in there every day and have him tell a story?” Dark asked.

 _“Non,”_ said Jacques. “You give him back what you took.”

 _“Non,”_ Dark mocked. “He’s too dangerous to have that back, and I don’t know if there is even a way to give it back.”

“Find one,” Jacques snapped. “You find one and you give it back to him or his powers may mutate again or he will get worse with the sickness.”

“We could always kill him,” Dark said. “If you think his existence is such an agony...”

Marvin would never see such an angry expression on Jacques’s face again. Jacques reached out and slapped Dark across the face with a growl.

“Jacques-” Marvin tried to speak.

“You are cruel!” Jacques roared. “All of you! You take a man’s soul and then you scratch your head when he is angry. You scratch your head when he lashes out. You scratch your head when he becomes unwell. What did you think would happen?! He would curl up and die? He would just change for the better? You took his soul! _His soul!_ And you thought that was ok!”

“We gave him a choice!” Dark yelled back. “He had something called The Audience make it for him!”

“I... _quoi?”_ Jacques asked. “The Audience? You let an audience make the decision? So you are not only cruel, you are stupid! An audience only sees what you show them on the stage. They do not see what happens behind it, they do not see what happens between the scenes! You cannot rely on them to make a good decision when they do not know half of the story or what’s going on!”

“He chose for them to make the decision!” Dark towered over Jacques.

“And you let him?!” Jacques did not back down. “The man was not in his right mind and you let him make that choice? How long did you let him suffer before you tried to help? Why the ever loving _hell_ did you even let that be the big choice? You made him choose between a life of suffering and death! You should have helped him!”

“You have no idea what he did to us!” Dark shouted. “He hurt and killed so many egos-”

“And right now you are acting _JUST LIKE HE DID!”_ Jacques shouted back.

Dark’s eyes went wide with shock. How dare this ego, this ignorant ego, call him that? Dark was not the Author. Dark did what he could and held no malice towards anyone. He'd given Author a choice and author left it in the hands of someone else. It was author’s fault if the coin didn’t flip the way he wanted it to. Dark was not to blame.

“How dare you?!” Dark growled. “You have no idea what you’re talking about-”

“I’m done talking with you,” Jacques said, putting his hand up. “This is getting nowhere, and none of you will ever understand. Henrik, how would you feel if we took away all of your medical knowledge? Marvin, how about we take away your magic? Huh? Let one of you lose your soul, your very essence, and we will see how you feel afterwards.”

He shook his head and turned to leave.

“This conversation is over,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about helping him, but _tu as la tête dans le cul!_ I am going to find who did this and I am going to talk to them instead.”

“You will not!” Dark’s aura spread and covered the door. “You are not bothering Remus because you want to throw a needless tantrum.”

Jacques paused and gave Dark another unimpressed look. He dug a piece of chalk from his pocket and began to draw something on the nearby wall. When the drawing was complete, it began to fill and warp until a new door was standing in its place.

Marvin stared. Jacques had created a door with a drawing.

 _“Pathétique,”_ Jacques spat at Dark as he opened the door and left.

**ELSEWHERE**

This wasn’t the first time Shawn had met up with a sad friend on a random street corner at night. But it was the first time he’d done it for Madpat.

There was a flash of light, and Shawn appeared, clutching the pocket watch/teleporter that Madpat had made and gifted to him so that Shawn could come visit as he pleased. Shawn looked around and saw Madpat huddled on a nearby bench. He was shivering in the cold, and Shawn had to swallow some words about not wearing a jacket.

“Are you ok?” He rushed over to Madpat. “What happened?”

“She...“ Madpat sniffled. “Stephanie knew that I was lying. She wanted me to tell her the truth about what happened before I went with you guys. I... I told her everything.”

“Oh Hatter,” Shawn sat down next to him and pulled him for a hug. “It’s ok...”

“She told me to leave,” Madpat sobbed. “Said she had to talk to Matt. They’re gonna hate me now. They’ll never want another thing to do with me...”

“We don’t know that,” Shawn said. “Matt’s a very forgiving kind of guy. I’m sure he’ll understand that it wasn’t your fault. We just need to wait and see what happens.”

But Madpat did not look very hopeful. He wiped at his eyes and sniffled again.

“In the meantime, let’s get you home,” Shawn said. “I’ll stay with you and we can make some very unhealthy popcorn and we can watch some bad movies and laugh at them, ok? You promised you would show me those dumb teen slasher films...”

“Ok,” Madpat said. “I’m sorry for calling you out here like this.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for,” Shawn said as he powered up his watch. “And even Mad Hatter had the March Hare...”


	27. The Time For Relaxing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who bought a Dawko Youtooz today?!
> 
> If you'll allow me to indulge for this chapter, I wanted to write some fluff.

Madpat and Shawn were lounging on the couch in one of the common rooms. Some cheesy slasher film was playing on the tv, and the two egos were currently vegging out on different candies and snacks. Shawn was munching on popcorn and Madpat was idly chewing on a twizzler that was half hanging from his mouth. 

“You know, you guys can say what you want about the movies in my time,” said Shawn. “About how they didn’t have color or sound or they had crappy effects... but our characters never made stupid decisions like these people...” 

Madpat snorted. He was lying on the couch, propped up against Shawn’s side with his legs hanging over the couch’s arm. 

“I mean who thinks it’s a good idea to run back into the haunted house instead of running literally anywhere else?” Shawn continued. “Or why did they even go into the house in the first place?” 

“That’s horror for you,” Madpat said. “The bad ones have the dumbest people alive, I swear...” 

They continued watching in silence for a bit, still eating their unhealthy foods. 

“You ever think about how big the world is?” Shawn suddenly asked. 

“What do you mean?” Madpat asked, unwrapping a snack cake. 

“Like... back in my time, travel was so expensive,” said Shawn. “So for me, my world was whatever city I was in. I rarely thought about what was outside it because I knew I’d never get to go anywhere. I never really had a lot of money. But now, we have cash and we have technology and we can go wherever the hell we want. It’s just... it’s mind boggling when you realize how much is out there that you can now go see...” 

“Where would you go?” Madpat asked. “We could travel.” 

Shawn blushed slightly. 

“You’ll make fun of me,” he said. 

“No I won’t,” Madpat looked up. “Tell me. Where do you want to go?” 

“I wanna go to Disney World,” said Shawn. 

“Disney World?” Madpat chuckled, but there was nothing teasing about it. “Why not Disneyland?” 

“Because Disney World is supposed to be way bigger and have way more stuff to do,” said Shawn. “But I could go to either one and still be sticking it to Mr. Drew. Disney was our biggest rival back then. Mr. Drew would fire anyone who mentioned Disney when he was in a foul mood. But I used to watch the films and little animations as often as I could. I loved them.” 

“Is that why you went to work for Mr. Drew?” Madpat asked. 

“Yep,” Shawn popped the ‘p’. “I wanted to be an animator... but I didn’t really have any skills with drawing, so Mr. Drew sent me to work in the factory. I hated it there. It was too noisy, too chaotic, and there was no heating in the winter. Try drawing a smile on a doll when your hand’s gone numb and won’t stop shaking...” 

He could still hear the rumble and clanging of the machines, he could still feel the stifling heat or the freezing cold. He still had calluses on his hands and fingers from hours of painting dolls with cheap wooden brushes. He'd often gotten splinters and spent his time after work carefully digging them out with a knife. The market crash had been both a blessing and a curse. The studio went under and Shawn was free, but at what cost? He’d been left to find a new job in a city that was not hiring, but Shawn had managed to scrape by until things picked up again.

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” Madpat said. 

They were silent again as they watched a few more teenagers die in stupid ways on the tv. 

“You know what you need to do?” Shawn suddenly asked. “You need to get yourself a moll.” 

“A what?” Madpat asked. 

“I think they’re called a ‘girlfriend’ now?” Shawn mused. 

“Not interested,” Madpat said. 

“Or a boyfriend?” Shawn said. 

“Nope,” Madpat shook his head. “I’m not interested in any of that. Like... I thought maybe it was just because I have so much going on, but... even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be interested. Just doesn’t appeal to me. I mean... romance just doesn't do it for me. Way too much of a hassle."

“Oh, are you one of those...” Shawn struggled to think of the world. “Oh, Bim mentioned them when he was explaining the flags to me... an aromatic?” 

Madpat laughed. 

“You mean ‘aromantic’,” he said. “Aromatic means you smell good.” 

“Well, you’re that too,” Shawn said. “It’s crazy how much that stuff has changed. Back then, nobody really talked about that stuff, and we certainly didn’t have names for it like today. So you’re just not interested in romancing anyone?” 

“Not really,” Madpat yawned. "And thanks. I've been stealing Wilford's body wash..."

He’d never really thought about it except for the times that Shawn had teased him about possibly finding someone to love and settle down with. But when he took the time to try to figure out what he was going to do with his life, he realized it did not include a spouse or romantic partner of any kind. He’d have plenty of friends but that was about it... 

“So you’re gonna die an old spinster?” Shawn chuckled. 

“Well, I’ll always have my March Hare, won’t I?” Madpat asked. 

“I dunno if I’d look good with bunny ears,” said Shawn. “That’s more Dawktrap’s thing.” 

“You could be Alice instead,” Madpat smiled. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve worn a dress,” Shawn shrugged. 

They lapsed back into silence and put on another movie. This movie was just as bad as the other, if the opening scene was anything to go by. But what it lacked in horror, it made up for with comedy. Madpat and Shawn were soon laughing at the ways the characters started dying. 

Madpat enjoyed times like this. Shawn always had a certain vibe to him that just made him feel better. Made him feel relaxed. Shawn had managed to calm him down about what had happened, and now Madpat wasn’t too worried. Sure, he’d probably freak out the next time he was alone, but right now he had his friend, some snacks, and some bad movies. That was all that he needed... 

“We’ll go to Disney World one day,” Madpat said. “I’ll take you. Make sure you get a good picture with Mickey.” 

“Do they have Oswald there too?” Shawn asked. “I remember him...” 

“Nope, just the mouse,” Madpat shook his head. 

“Hmm...” Shawn mused. “Well, I suppose I could still have fun without him. Sure, let’s go one day. I’ll hold you to your promise.”


	28. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: *watching you guys talk about how much of a favorite character Jacques, Madpat, or Shawn is* Do none of you remember the very important lesson Wilford gave you about naming favorites?

“Jacques, wait!”

Jacques paused and looked back to see Marvin and Henrik following him.

“Jacques, you need to think,” said Marvin. “Narrator is dangerous with his powers. Ask Jameson or Shawn, they were _tortured_ by him.”

“So he deserves to be tortured too?” Jacques asked. “Is that how it is? Is that how things are done here?”

“It’s unfortunate,” said Marvin. “But there’s not much that we can do.”

“There is always something,” said Jacques. “If either of you understood, you would agree with me. Can either of you please just try to imagine what he’s going through?”

He glanced between the two, but they stayed silent.

“Very well, let me assist you,” Jacques turned to Henrik. “Henrik... you are a very respected doctor, _oui?_ Imagine one day someone comes to you and says that you are too dangerous with your skills, so they take away all of your medical knowledge. You are no longer a doctor. You cannot help people, you cannot save people, you cannot work in the hospital anymore. So what do you do now? You know nothing else, you have no other talents than the ones you had in medical field. Oh, but this is your _mercy._ You should be _grateful_ that they let you live. You should be _grateful_ when you end up a cashier in some soulless corporation. You should be _grateful_ when you spend your days getting yelled at by old ladies who are angry that you will not accept their expired coupons so that they can get fifty cents off their purchase. You should be grateful _every day_ you see the people who took your talents from you. Because that is the only choice you were offered. Lose yourself... or die.”

Henrik had steadily grown paler throughout Jacques’s tirade. He turned away when he was finished, looking ill.

“And you, Marvin!” Jacques turned to him.

Marvin took a step back.

“What if they took your magic because you were deemed too dangerous with it? Are you still a magician? Are you still magnificent when you’re doing cheap tricks at little Timmy’s birthday party? When you ask some snotty brat ‘Is this your card’? Are you still yourself?!”

He was up on his tiptoes by now, leaning as far into Marvin’s face as he could. Marvin, to his credit did not back down, but he did seem uncomfortable with what Jacques was saying.

Jacques sighed and stepped back from Marvin, addressing both of them.

“I want you to understand,” he said. “You did not just take that man’s abilities, you took his _soul._ You took his _identity._ You took the one thing he had left of himself in this world that we were all thrown into with no support...”

He glanced between them.

“Now... please tell me... who was it who did this to him?” He asked. “I do not intend to harm them, but I do wish to speak to them.”

They were both silent for a minute.

“His name is Remus,” Marvin said. “He’s one of the Sanders Sides...”

“Dark hair, white streak, mustache,” said Henrik. “He wears a lot of green and black...”

Jacques smiled and pulled them both in for a hug.

 _“Merci, mes freres,”_ he said. He let them go and then left.

“Do you think we did the right thing?” Henrik asked Marvin.

“I don’t think it’s up to us to determine what’s right or wrong in this situation,” Marvin answered. “But... I trust Jacques. Let’s leave it in his hands for now...”

The next time they saw Jacques... they heard him before they saw him.

Remus had been sitting in one of the common rooms. His injuries were much better under the combined efforts of Henrik and Dr. Iplier. The only bandages that still showed were the ones on his hand. The rest were under his clothes.

Henrik had decided to stay until Remus was healed up, and Marvin had stayed to help Jacques with Narrator. There was progress, Narrator seemed to be doing better. He was actually starting to smile and look forward to their visits, telling them that he had spent all the time since their last meeting coming up with a story to tell them.

To Marvin, it was like watching a dog get excited whenever someone came to feed him after he’d been starving for so long. Perhaps he _had_ been starving in a way...

That particular day, Jacques had decided to confront Remus, and that was what Henrik and Marvin were hearing as they quickly made their way to the common room.

Jacques was yelling at Remus in French while Remus yelled back at him in German.

“What are they saying?” Marvin asked.

“Well, I can only follow one half of the conversation,” Henrik pointed at Remus. “He is saying some rather colorful insults about Jacques and his parentage... and I expect Jacques’s words are not much different.”

Remus and Jacques then suddenly fell silent and glared at each other. Remus towered over Jacque by more than half a foot, and Jacques was once again up on his tiptoes to give himself a bit more height. But even though he was shorter, his words held no less of a bite.

Marvin and Henrik watched them both glare at each other. It was as if they were waiting to see who would back down first, but both were stubborn men who were not afraid to fight.

Remus then broke the tension by leaning his head down and kissing Jacques on the lips. He laughed as Jacques stepped back and gagged.

“Your breath smells like a dog’s ass,” Jacques said, wiping at his mouth.

“Oh thank you,” Remus smiled, preening at what he considered praise. “But my answer is still the same. I’m not giving Mr. Diary his ability back. So hop off, little Froggy.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jacques. “Why would you not help a man who is broken and who was judged harshly and unfairly, and... _oh....”_

Jacques’s eyes widened and he looked at Remus with something akin to pity in his eyes.

“Oh,” he repeated. “Oh no,” he covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh _mon Dieu_... I am so sorry. I-I never realized... I _should_ have realized...”

Jacques was very convincing, but Marvin could tell that he was putting on an act.

“Eh?” Remus narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“The reason why you will not do it,” said Jacques. “It’s because... you are unable to. Oh dear, I suppose I will have to find someone else to help. Marvin, you are good with the magics, _oui?_ Maybe you can help me. Or... is there anyone else here who has more knowledge? I’m sure we can find someone...”

It was like watching a nuclear bomb go off behind Remus’s eyes, and at one point Marvin could swear they turned red.

 _“Excuse me!?”_ He growled. “Are you saying that I can’t undo my own spells?” He grabbed Jacques with one hand and lifted him into the air. “You can say what you want about my looks, you can say what you want about my smell, you can say what you want about my mustache, but don’t you ever... _ever._.. say anything about my abilities. I am Dark Creativity! I am the heart that beats under the floorboards. I am the cemetery that reanimates your beloved pet. I am every terror and monster that ever leapt from a page, and I will _not_ be talked down to by a _tiny little frog!”_

Jacques simply gave him an unimpressed look, crossing his arms and hanging there as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Remus growled.

“I once stood before the most prestigious art critic in France,” said Jacques. “He told me my art was crap. I told him his face looks like the teats of an elderly goat.”

Remus blinked... and then laughed. He set Jacques back down and shook his head.

“I like you,” he said. “You have a lot of heart... even if you barely have a brain. But I’m still not doing it. That man hurt my Jannie. He can rot in Hell...”

“From what I understand, he did that on the orders of someone else who was already torturing him,” said Jacques. "If someone ordered you to punch Marvin in the face, and you do it... do I have the right to cut your head off?”

Henrik and Marvin’s eyes both widened. This was news to them as Narrator had never mentioned being tortured by the Actor. Had Jacques found out during one of his visits without them?

“He attacked me,” Remus snapped.

“Because _you_ hurt _him,”_ said Jacques. “This is all nothing more than revenge, and it is a merciless wheel. Always spinning. I can only slow it down. You have the power to stop it before it crushes someone else. The question is... will you do it?”

Remus sighed heavily, pressing his lips together in a firm line. He gave Jacques a look that was equal parts angry and annoyed, but Jacques simply gave him a stony expression back.

“Let me see him,” Remus finally said. “Only after I see him will I decide what to do...”

The Septics all sighed in relief.


	29. The Surprise in the Box

“Hey Benjamin.”

Benjamin turned around from where he had been dusting off a book case. He blinked in surprise when he saw Security Nate with a new ego. This ego was one of Ethan’s. He wore a black and white maid dress with matching striped stockings, and a maid’s headband that was complete with a pair of white cat ears.

“This is Maidthan,” said Security Nate. “He’s new here, and he’s offered to help you keep things clean. I figured I’d introduce you two and let you show him the ropes.”

“Miss,” Benjamin bowed.

“Sir,” Maidthan curtsied.

“Maidthan, you let us know if you need anything, ok?” Security Nate said. “In the meantime, I leave you in Benjamin’s capable hands.”

He walked off, leaving the maid alone with the butler.

“This is such a big house,” Maidthan beamed. “And so many people. I know I will enjoy my time here. Who do we report to for our daily itineraries?”

“Well, we don’t exactly have those,” Benjamin said.

“Oh?” Maidthan looked confused. “Are we given weekly schedules instead?”

Benjamin smiled. He liked this maid already.

“Not quite,” he said. “Master Darkiplier is the head of the house, but he’s not exactly our employer. We are guests in this house, and so the rate of cleaning is completely up to us. I usually just clean whatever is most pressing like dishes and any trash lying around. From there I’ll focus on things like sweeping or mopping and such. But we can clean as we please. Master Darkiplier just asks us to make sure things at least look presentable...”

Maidthan fidgeted as he thought it over.

“So... if I wanted to just sweep the floors and clean the bathrooms one day?” He asked.

“Permitted,” said Benjamin.

“And... If I just wanted to vacuum the carpets and wash the windows one day?” Maidthan asked.

“Permitted,” said Benjamin.

“And... if one day I decided I did not want to clean and just want to relax with a long bubble bath?” Maidthan asked.

“Permitted,” Benjamin smiled.

Maidthan’s eyes lit up and he happily clapped.

“I’m so glad I came here,” he said. “This is good. This is very good. I will go get started on the kitchen, I think the others made a mess when they were making lunch.”

He spun around and hummed happily to himself as he left the room. Benjamin watched him leave and nodded to himself.

Yes, the maid would do just fine here...

Wilford opened the door to his room and sighed as he shut it behind him. Dark had managed to convince him to come out and eat, but he was still being quiet on the painted elephant in the room. The portrait that Jacques had painted. Dark was dancing around any attempt to explain it.

Wilford was confused as to why. What was it about the portrait that Dark didn’t want to explain it? Who was the man in the portrait? Why did Wilford feel like he should know the man?

Wilford glanced over to where the portrait hung and froze.

The portrait was no longer there...

Wilford tore his room apart, looking for the missing portrait. He thought maybe it had fallen or maybe he had moved it and didn’t remember (he did forget things sometimes), but even after searching through everything, he didn’t find it.

Someone had taken the portrait, and he was going to find out who did it...

**ELSEWHERE**

Jackie was making himself a late dinner. A sub sandwich that was more meat and toppings than bread, but he burned calories like no one’s business and needed to make sure to get his protein. As he slathered mustard on his sandwich, he paused and looked over his shoulder. The shadow beings were still there, and he couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious. Wilford had been teaching him how to control his seeing them, but now Wilford was... not well.

And Jackie felt a bit weird about strangers watching him eat.

He carried his food to the living room and sat down to eat, turning his attention to Chase and Jameson. Chase was determined to pick up where Dawktrap had left off and teach Jameson how to play video games. Jameson was learning rather quickly and was slowly starting to develop gamer reflexes, much to Chase’s happiness.

For now, Jameson was playing Detroit Become Human to help him learn how to do quick time events. Jameson’s eyes were glued to the tv screen, and he was quick to press whichever buttons were displayed.

“You’re doing good, Jaime,” Chase pat his shoulder. “We’ll make a gamer out of you yet.”

Jameson beamed at the praise and was soon back to watching the screen.

Jackie finished his food and left for his nightly patrol. He already had a target in mind: some thieves that dealt in stolen technology were going to receive a shipment tonight, and he was going to apprehend them and leave them for the cops to sort out.

He made his way to the where the message he’d hacked said they were meeting, and from there it was easy pickings to round them up and restrain them. Another job well done!

Jackie looked around and noticed that one of the crates had broken open. He walked over to it, intending to seal it back up, but he froze when he saw what was in it.

The message had said they were delivering a priceless android prototype from some underground company. An android that had the most advanced AI of any machine in existence.

But nowhere in the message at all, did it say that the android looked _just like Sean McLoughlin!_

Jackie stared down at the android and carefully moved some of the packing material out of the way. The android was wearing a simple black shirt and pants, and there was a circle at his temple that reminded Jackie of the video game Jameson had been playing.

Had... had the fans made an android ego for Sean?

Either way, this was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Jackie carefully scooped up the android and took off. He’d bring it home and see what the others had to say. Maybe he could try contacting Sean...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know Maidthan is technically not an ego, but I couldn't resist. Can you blame me? Also I gave him that name because 'Maid Ethan' didn't sound right.


	30. The Android

**“I didn’t put cheese on it,”** Jackie said softly. **“I’m lactose intolerant...”**

He washed the dirt off his hands in the kitchen sink and then returned to the living room where the android and his brothers were.

“Where did he come from?” Chase asked, looking down at the android.

Jackie had laid the android out on the couch, not sure what else to do with it.

“From the deal I went and busted,” said Jackie. “He was in one of the crates.”

“So you stole him?” Anti asked.

“Technically, he was _already_ stolen,” Jackie said, sheepishly scratching his head. “But look at him! He has to be one of Sean’s egos. Unless someone is building robots that look like youtubers.”

“I would not scratch that off the list just yet,” said Anti. “There are sick people on the internet...”

Jameson carefully slid a pillow under the android’s head and then lay a blanket over him. Android or not, this was an ego and Jameson was going to treat him just like his human brothers.

“What are we even going to do with him?” Chase asked. “None of us are very savvy with robotics...”

“We can ask Bing to take a look at him,” said Jackie. “He’s cool, he won’t mind.”

“And after that?” Chase asked.

“We get him a maid’s dress and a mop and put him to work,” Anti grinned.

“Anti,” Chase frowned. “I highly doubt he would have been stolen if all he could do was the same things a roomba can.”

“What else could he do?” Anti shrugged.

“Defense?” Jackie asked. “I mean, it would make sense for why he was stolen...”

“So we have a potentially killer robot on our hands?” Chase asked.

“Sean wouldn’t have made a killer robot,” Jackie argued.

“Sean didn’t make this ego. The fans must have. And Mark made one...” said Chase.

 **Let’s wake him up,** Jameson looked at them. **See what he’s like.**

“I dunno...” Chase glanced at the android nervously. “Do we even know how to turn him on?”

“I can try,” Anti said, moving around the couch. “Shouldn’t be too hard...”

He positioned his fingers on the android’s temples and began to hack through and access his system. Anti was impressed at the power of the firewall software, but little could stop him when he wanted to hack something...

The light on the android’s head lit up and began to cycle with yellow as if something was loading. He opened his eyes...

**ELSEWHERE**

Dave was heading back from his check in at the security desk. There was a new ego on the registry and Dave was surprised to see how there were still egos coming in for shelter. How many were out there? At this rate, Dark was going to have to expand the house again...

A nearby door opened and an ego stumbled out. He was breathing a bit heavily and spat a glob of paint into a handkerchief. Dave recognized him as Jacques.

“Are you ok?” Dave asked. “Do you need to see Dr. Iplier?”

“Ah, _non,”_ Jacques shook his head. “I’ll be ok. The painting is finished.”

Dave looked down at the canvas Jacques was carrying. It was very vibrant and depicted a... a whale...

Dave’s eyes widened and Jacques noticed.

“Ah, would you like it?” He held it out to Dave. “You can if you want. I have nowhere to put it...”

Dave slowly took the painting from him. He knew this whale. It was the same whale he had once seen in his dreams...

“Do you know what this is?” He asked.

“Um... _Une baleine?”_ Jacques said. “I don’t know why I paint half the things I do. I just get inspiration and it tells me. But I am very proud of this one. I was able to do some really good shading for the ocean waves...”

Dave... did not know what to think. He’d had his share of omens and supernatural elements to know that this could be something good, bad, or it could be nothing. He decided to just keep an eye out for anything else for now. No sense in worrying himself over something that might not happen.

“Thanks,” he said, “I would love to have this. I’ve been looking for something to hang up in my room for a while now anyway.”

“Oh good,” Jacques smiled. “I’m glad you like it. If you see me paint anything else that you like, just let me know. Maybe I will paint the first idea I had for this painting.”

“First idea?” Dave asked.

 _“Oui,_ I was given an image to paint, but then another dream came and this one was much stronger than the first one.”

“What was the first image?” Dave asked, feeling a little worried.

“An elephant,” Jacques shrugged.

Wilford threw open the doors to Dark’s office, startling Dark who was sitting at his desk.

“Where is it?” Wilford asked. “Where is the painting?”

Dark sighed and stood up.

“I hid it,” he said. “For your own good.”

“For my own good?” Wilford repeated. “Why? How was it for my own good?”

What was Dark hiding from him? Wilford was getting angrier and angrier. Dark had always been honest with him before. He’d never hidden anything from Wilford. So why was he hiding something now? And what was he hiding?

“Wilford,” Dark said slowly. “I promise you, this is not something you will want to remember.”

“Remember?” Wilford repeated.

Dark cursed his slip of the tongue.

Wilford narrowed his eyes. Why had Dark said ‘remember’? Why was the portrait’s identity someone that he would remember?

_“My friends call me The Colonel. You are welcome to do the same, should it please you...”_

Wilford’s eyes widened at the voice in the back of his head. A memory? A memory of him on a porch with... someone. He couldn’t remember what they looked like or what their name was...

But he knew one thing for sure...

“The man in the portrait,” Wilford said slowly. “He’s me, isn’t he? He’s... he _was_ me.”

“Wilford, please!” Dark was practically begging now. The red and blue outlines were going crazy. “Please drop it. If you learn what happened... it will devastate you.”

Wilford looked at Dark and felt as if was standing on the edge of the cliff. Dark was telling him to back away... but a gut feeling was telling him to jump. Jump, and he would know what he could not remember.

“Fine,” Wilford finally said. “Don’t tell me. I won’t ask you to.”

Dark looked relieved... until Wilford turned and looked off to the side.

 **“Tell me what he’s hiding from me,”** he said.


	31. The Wheel is Stopped

“Hey Mark?” MerEthan asked. “You ever get the feeling that we’re the sanest people in the house?”

MerMark was busy playing tug of war with MerChica, but he did look up and furrow his brows.

“I mean... maybe?” he said slowly.

They had seen some strange and crazy things in the house and outside it as well. The Hermit that lived in the hut out in the woods liked to ‘visit’ them in an attempt to ‘get some delicious meats’.

“I bet you’d taste really good with some lemon and garlic,” he’d say.

Then there had been the crazy goings on in the house...

And finally, there was...

MerEthan flinched when something came barreling out of the bushes nearby. He turned to look and got a clear view of a very nude Heehoo. Dark had been trying to get him to at least wear underwear, but he always found a way to rip them off.

The mermen watched as Heehoo shuffled around a bit, carrying a bag of Takis. He then dunked his head in the pool and MerMark frowned when he saw all manner of dirt and nasty things wash out of Heehoo’s hair.

“Hey!” he splashed the other ego. “Stop that!”

Heehoo hissed loudly at them, dropping a few Takis into the pool. He scooped them out and shoved them into his mouth before running off.

MerEthan’s eye twitched as he watched the cloud of dirt and god knew what else slowly spread through the water.

“That’s it!” he cried out and pointed at MerMark. “I want a divorce!”

He then slid under the water and swam off through one of the tunnels. MerMark watched him leave, confusion plain on his face.

“We... we’re not even married,” he said to MerChica. MerChica just tilted her head in reply.

“He wants you to give him back his ability?” Roman looked shocked. “After everything that foul being has done?!”

“Roman, this has to stop somewhere,” said Remus. “And right now I’m the only one who can stop it.”

“Are you sure about this, Kiddo?” Patton looked uneasy.

“You once told me that you were going to help me murder whoever hurt Janus,” said Virgil. “Now you want to help him?”

“I agree with Remus,” said Logan. “Further antagonizing will only result in more injuries. Possibly death.”

“You can’t possibly be considering this,” said Virgil. “After what he did to Janus-”

“Virgil, stop!” Janus finally spoke up.

The other sides looked at him, some were shocked.

“I wanted justice for what he did to me,” said Janus. “Not vengeance. He has been punished. Anything more is not justice. From what Remus tells me, he is a very broken man. So I am washing my hands of the whole thing...”

“What about what he did to Emile?” Virgil asked.

“Emile said he forgave him,” Patton answered.

“And what about what he did to Remus?” Roman asked. “Aren’t you mad about that?”

“Of course I am,” said Janus. “But it’s Remus’s decision what to do about it since he was the victim. If he wants to let it be, then we should accept his choice. This whole thing is a mess and I am exhausted from it all. I want to put it all to rest and just move on.”

The Sides were silent for a moment.

“Very well,” Roman said. “It goes against my own desires, but they are irrelevant in this case. The final choice is up to you, Remus. Whatever you decide... I will accept it. We will all accept it.”

Virgil growled in frustration and pulled up his hood, but he said nothing.

“Tell me a story,” Jacques said as he set a chair down in Narrator’s room.

Narrator glanced to the side and then back at Jacques.

“Draw me something,” he said.

“Ah, _quoi?”_ Jacques sounded confused.

“I shared my art with you,” said Narrator. “Now share yours with me. Draw me something. Please...”

Jacques looked around the room, but there wasn’t much there. He shrugged and pulled a few pieces of chalk from his pocket. A wall was as good as any canvas...

As Jacques started to draw with the chalk, he heard Narrator get up and move to stand behind him. He didn’t react, eyes on his artwork.

“Are you scared of me?” Narrator asked.

“Should I be?” Jacques said, not turning around.

“Everyone else is,” said Narrator. “I’ve done a lot of bad things. Hurt a lot of people. They wanted to kill me at first, but... I was spared for some reason.”

“Hmm...” Jacques selected a different colored piece of chalk. “And now? Are you still that man? What do you want now?”

Narrator was silent for a few minutes.

“No,” he finally said. “I am not that man anymore. I was once a killer. I was created to be that way by my creator. But when I came here, I only wanted to stay in my cabin and write. I didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I just wanted to be left alone...”

“So what happened?” Jacques asked.

Again, Narrator was quiet for a bit.

“I discovered something that terrified me,” he said. “I lost my mind over it, and in my desperation, I sold my soul to the devil. By the time I realized how bad my situation was... it was too late.”

“Did he hurt you?” Jacques still didn’t turn around.

“Yes,” Narrator said. “I still have the scars. I still remember how scared I felt. I thought I was going to die a few times, and... after a while I began to hope that he would go too far and finally end me. I quelled my pain and my fear by tormenting others. It made me feel like I was in control... even though I had no control at all.”

Jacques had stopped drawing, hand still holding the chalk against the wall.

“Do you regret it?” He asked.

“I do,” Narrator sighed. “If I knew then what I know now... I would never have left my cabin. I would have stayed.”

“Is your cabin still there?” Jacques asked. “It came over with you?”

“It did,” said Narrator. “But I don’t know where it is. I was so busy running and trying to get away that I didn’t pay attention. And when Actor got ahold of me, he took me away to some warehouse in the middle of nowhere...”

Jacques was silent as he kept drawing. Narrator’s actions were starting to make sense. From what Jacques could tell, everything had started when Narrator became mixed up with the Actor. Marvin had told him about that ego, and Jacques did not doubt the Actor was capable of breaking a man and forcing him to do as he commanded. Sure, Narrator was not entirely blameless, but you can hardly make good choices when being bombarded with what the Narrator went through.

Jacques finished his drawing and then stepped back.

“Look,” he said. “It’s you. I made sure you give you a little smile...”

Narrator looked at the drawing... and he slowly smiled until he matched it.


	32. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of torture

“I’m sure everyone understands why we are here,” Dark said, looking at the others.

Narrator was sitting in the chair right in front of Dark’s desk with Jacque sitting at his side. Behind him were Janus, Remus, Marvin, Shawn, Emile, and Madpat. The whole thing looked like a trial in a courtroom, and it pretty much was.

“Jacques has petitioned me to have Narrator’s writing ability restored,” said Dark. “I understand that this is a very heavy decision to make, and perhaps I am not the best to make it alone. I invited you all here to listen and question as you please. At the end, we will make a decision. Is everyone in agreement?”

There were a few mumbled yes’s and nods.

“Very well,” Dark said. “Let’s begin. Narrator... you claim that what you did under while under the... presence... of the Actor was done because of your treatment by him. Please explain.”

“I don’t think that’s a-” Emile gave a concerned protest, but Dark silenced him.

“I understand your concerns,” he said. “but we need to know if we are to make an informed decision.”

Narrator took a deep breath, and Madpat gave a curious look. He'd always been under the impression that Narrator and Actor had been on good terms...

“I went to work for the Actor because of something truly life changing that I discovered,” Narrator said slowly. “It terrified me and made me flee my cabin. I ran until I could run no more... and that’s when he approached me. He told me that he knew what I knew, and he could help me learn to break free of them. I could break free and have my own life...”

“What was it that you learned?” Dark asked.

Narrator glanced to the side.

“I would... rather not say,” he said softly. “It’s a very personal matter and it will not have any effect on the proceedings.”

Dark thought for a few minutes before he finally shrugged.

“Very well,” he said. “Continue.”

“Actor showed me that he could help me by helping me become more powerful,” said Narrator. “He told me about a special ink that I could use.”

“How did he know about the ink?” Shawn asked. “I want to know.”

“Actor said he once worked with a man named Joey Drew,” said Narrator. “Drew wanted him to provide the voice of one of his characters. Um... his name was... Twisty?”

 _“Bendy?!”_ Shawn’s eyes widened.

“Yes, that one,” Narrator nodded. “Actor also mentioned that Drew was working on something behind the scenes. An ink machine. But when the market collapsed, Drew had no money to pay Actor, and Actor cut ties with him and left. But he told me that the ink machine should still be there and there was an ego that knew where it was. He told me to follow Shawn to it, and... Shawn did end up leading me there...”

“Those rats!” Shawn snapped. “I’m glad they’re dead!”

“Shawn,” Dark fixed him with a look. “Calm down. Please continue, Narrator.”

“Actor encouraged me to help him experiment,” said Narrator. “He’d bring me egos or tell me to go out and find certain ones and then use my ability to see how far I could go or if it was possibly for an ego to resist my writings. I... I did not want to at first, but I was desperate. And then he... h-he would... he would torture me. The torture made me feel angry and powerless... and I took it out on my victims. I... I accept full responsibility for that...”

Madpat’s eyes widened and he tensed. This was news to him. Actor had always hidden any sort of distaste or displeasure at someone. He would only punish Madpat in private while acting as if nothing was wrong when the others were nearby. Had he done the same with Narrator?

“What did he do to you?” Dark asked.

Narrator’s fingers gripped at his thighs and he bowed his head, rocking back and forth slightly. Jacques reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“H... He said it was to help make me s-stronger,” Narrator’s voice was so soft that the others almost had to lean forward to hear him. “He would... hold me under water until... until I’d p-passed out. He would h-h... heat up m-metal and press it against my skin...”

He pulled up one of his sleeves, showing a bad burn scar on his arm.

“He would... he would refuse to let me sleep... sometimes he wouldn’t let me eat...” Narrator continued. “He told me this was to make me stronger so that I wouldn’t be so helpless and weak-”

Madpat abruptly stood up and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. Marvin stared after him, noticing how pale and sick he’d looked.

“Sorry, excuse me,” Shawn stood up and ran after him.

Narrator looked confused as he watched Shawn leave.

“Hatter!” Shawn caught up with Madpat. “Did you... did you know about this?”

“No!” Madpat shook his head, covering his mouth with his hand. “I had no idea! He... The Actor never hinted at any time that I wasn’t the only one going through hell! I can’t believe this! Narrator's behavior... it all makes so much sense. I’d always wondered why he hated me so much. He must have thought that he was the only one going through this and I wasn’t.”

He suddenly gasped, realizing something.

“Oh that bastard...” he growled. “He did it on purpose. He made us feel like we were the only ones getting hurt! He kept us isolated so that we couldn’t band together or talk about it. Oh.. that _bastard! I hate him!”_

“Hatter calm down,” Shawn made Madpat look at him. “Look at me, I’m right here. He’s dead and he can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. We’re ok...”

Madpat was breathing heavily, hands clenched into fists so tightly that his palms were bleeding. He suddenly twisted to the side and punched a hole into the wall. He punched another hole into the wall and gave a guttural roar that was filled with rage and anguish.

Back inside Dark’s office, the others all flinched when they heard Madpat’s scream.

“Is he ok?” Narrator asked.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Dark. “I will speak to him later. It sounds like he needs time to calm down. Anyway, we have heard your stories. It’s time to deliberate. Who would like to go first?”

Surprisingly, it was Janus who stood up first.

“I understand what it’s like to be forced into a role and a mindset that is not who you really are,” he said. “I understand how it can affect your judgement and your decisions... even without being hurt. I say that he has been punished enough for what he has done, and I can say with utmost certainty that he has not lied at all. I move to put this to an end and restore his ability.”

Remus stood up next.

“I second it," he said. "Yeah, he hurt me, but... well I hurt him way worse than a few stabbings. He didn’t even aim for anything important, and any horror writer worth their salt knows the anatomy of the human body and its weak points very well,” he said. “I do know a way to restore things, and I wouldn’t mind doing it.”

Dark nodded at them.

“I would like to hear Emile speak first,” he said. “What is your professional opinion on this?”

“Well...” Emile stood up too. “I know he lashed out, but trauma survivors and victims of PTSD often do lash out. And he did not mean to hurt me. He did not know his power had changed. I think... underneath it all, he does have the potential to live a happy and healthy life, and that he is not as bad as he has presented himself to be. But... he _does_ need help.”

Dark nodded again, glancing at Marvin.

“Anything to add?” he asked.

“No,” Marvin shook his head. “I think they’ve covered it all.”

“Jacques?” Dark asked.

 _“Non,”_ Jacques said. “I have already made my opinions quite clear.”

“Very well,” Dark cleared his throat. “The motion to restore Narrator’s abilities... will be granted. However, I would prefer for him to be in a better state of mind first. As such, I would like for him to undergo therapy and to better integrate into the household first. If he will agree to do this for a period of three months... and if Emile deems him mentally fit at the end of that time, then his abilities will be restored. This is the only deal I will offer. Do you agree to the terms?”

Narrator felt as if his heart was going to leap out of his chest. For the first time in a very long time, he felt the stirrings of hope. He felt that maybe... maybe things would be ok.

“I accept,” he said. “Thank you...”

“Then I think we’re done here,” said Dark. “We will be keeping an eye on your progress, Narrator.”

“Author,” he smiled. “My name... my name is Author.”


	33. The Secret Revealed

Jackie was watching the android carefully. They had finally managed to get it powered up and working. It had taken Anti time to bypass the security features and get everything activated without using any passwords or codes.

“His system is like a maze,” Anti said. “All twists and turns...”

But now the android was finished booting up and looking at them all with a smile.

“Hello,” he greeted in a voice that seemed way too human to be normal. “My designation is S34N. Which of you is my new owner?”

Everyone cringed at the word ‘owner’. It didn’t help that S34N had the same face as them, so it was like watching themself ask for their owner.

The Septics glanced at each other, wondering what to do next.

It was Jameson who strode forward and introduced himself.

Hello, he signed. My name is Jameson. These are my brothers Chase Brody, Jackieboyman, and Antisepticeye. We welcome you to our home and our family. You are our brother now.

S34N’s LED spun at his temple as he gave a confused look.

“Brother?” He repeated. “To be a brother, one must have a familial relationship through either blood or adoption. I have neither of those.”

We all share bonds through our creator Sean, Jameson signed. That makes us brothers.

S34N’s LED spun again.

“Oh,” he said. “You were all created by Sean McLoughlin as well? Interesting. What models are you?”

“Um... we’re not androids,” Chase spoke up. “We’re human. But we’re all Sean’s egos.”

“My family is... human?” S34N said.

“Speak for yourselves,” Anti grinned. “Not all of us are completely human.”

“I recognize you,” S34N said to Anti. “You were the one who hacked my systems and performed an unauthorized reboot.”

“We had to wake you up somehow,” Jackie said.

S34N took a moment to scan everyone. They all had facial matches anywhere between 95-99% both with each other and with Sean McLoughlin, so they weren’t lying about that. He was in safe hands, it seemed like. But now there was the problem of what he was supposed to do. He'd been created as a prototype and programmed to obey the wishes of the man he was being sold to. But none of these men were claiming to be his owner or seemed to even wish to claim it.

So what was S34N supposed to do? Who was he supposed to obey?

“I... I do not know what to do,” he finally said. “I am programmed to obey my new owner, but none of you are him. I was not supposed to be powered on until I was delivered.”

“Awkward,” Jackie said softly.

Chase and Anti looked like they didn’t have any idea of what to do either. Jameson glanced between them all, waiting to see who would do anything.

The silence was broken by the sound of shuffling footsteps and a low groan. Robbie then entered the room, holding a box of pancake mix. He looked between his brothers before zeroing in on S34N.

“Paaaaancaaaaakes,” he said, slowly walking over and holding up the box of mix. “Pleeeeeaaaaase....”

S34N’s LED spun and he nodded.

“New owner successfully registered,” he said. “Command confirmed. Would you like fruit with your pancakes?”

Robbie nodded.

“Buttteeeeeer,” he said. “Syruuuuup. Pleeeeeaaaase...”

“Of course,” S34N smiled.

He left the room and Robbie slowly followed him, making happy noises and clapping his hands at the thought of delicious fluffy pancakes.

The others stared at them as they left and Anti burst out laughing.

“Well, I guess Robbie beat us all to it,” he said. “He’s the boss of that robot now.”

“I cannot believe that just happened,” Chase shook his head.

“Hey, that went way better than it could have,” Jackie said. “At least we don’t have to worry about the whole owner issue now...”

**ELSEWHERE**

Dark was heading back to his office, having stepped out for a quick break and some tea. The day was winding down, and it had been a good one so far. He’d solved the problem with Narrator, and now all that was left was to wait and see how he did over the next three months. But there were still other problems to deal with...

“Dark.”

Ah, there was one now...

Dark paused and turned to face Wilford.

“Wilford,” he greeted. “How can I help you?”

“I want my painting back,” Wilford said. “That’s how you can help me.”

Dark sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I already told you that you’re not getting it back,” he said. “I know you hate it, but it’s for your own good.”

He was hoping that Wilford would just forget about the painting, as he had a tendency to forget things. Dark just had to wait him out and then everything would be fine.

“Last chance,” said Wilford. “Give it back and I’ll leave everything else be.”

Everything else? What was Wilford talking about? Dark shook his head.

“Stop asking for the painting,” Dark said. “I have half mind to just burn it. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

He turned around and walked away, heading back to his office.

“Dark!”

He had so much work to do.

“Dark!”

Hopefully he could get it done before night...

_“Damien!”_

Dark froze and felt as if someone had just punched all the air from his lungs. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and his blue outline began to writhe in panic. Slowly, he turned around, shock etched all over his face.

Wilford looked angry, but there was also betrayal in his eyes.

“Wh-what?” Dark said. “How... how did you-”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Wilford interrupted, walking closer. “Were you ever going to tell me the truth? That my best friend and the woman I had once loved with all my heart are _right here in front of me?!”_ He gave them a look of pure rage. _“Were you?!”_

“Wilford, please let me explain,” Dark tried to calm him down. “Please. I didn’t think you would handle the truth well. Your mind is... it’s broken, Wilford. I was our reanimation that broke it to begin with, I didn’t want to be the reason that it broke again.”

“So once again, you decided that something was for my own good,” Wilford shook his head. “You’re selfish. Selfish! Damien was like my brother and I kissed the very ground that Celine walked upon. But you kept them hidden from me! And what of the DA? What did you do to them? Are you hiding them too?”

“No, Wilford, they’re... it’s hard to explain,” Dark sighed.

Wilford grabbed Dark and they teleported into his office. Wilford made Dark sit at his desk and part of Wilford’s aura kept the door covered.

“Explain,” he said. “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me _everything...”_


	34. The Hidden History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize in advance...
> 
> #sorrynotsorry

It was all so dizzying.

Wilford felt as if he knew these things. As if they had been locked away in some distant part of hie memory. At the same time, he felt as if he were learning these things for the first time.

Dark looked absolutely exhausted, eyes red and puffy, out of tears to cry. He had cried during the explanation, overcome with guilt for hiding such things from Wilford. His outlines of Damien and Celine were there on either side of him, looking guilty as well.

“I’m disappointed,” Wilford finally said.

Dark felt awful at those words.

“I would have expected you to hide, Celine,” Wilford looked at the red outline. “After all, according to Dark... we did not part on good terms. I don’t remember us separating... but I do remember how much I loved you. And apparently... I’ve been having flashes of memories of our time together. All the happiness we shared... Why did you leave?”

Dark sighed again. He knew why. He had access to Celine’s memories, and he knew exactly why she had decided to leave one day.

“You were... you started becoming unwell after your return from the war,” he explained. “You were becoming increasingly reckless and withdrawn. She... she became scared of what might happen if she stayed, so... so she had her belongings packed up while you were away on a trip with Damien, and... she left. Damien knew that she was leaving, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you. You were his best friend... but Celine was his twin.”

Wilford made an odd sound and then began to laugh. He laughed in a horrible way that didn’t sound right at all. It sounded strained. It sounded as if it were covering something else up.

“Well... at least now I know why I have this and can’t seem to bring myself to get rid of it,” Wilford held out his hand and a small box appeared in a puff of pink smoke.

Celine’s eyes widened in horror, hand covering her mouth. Damien didn’t look much better.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Wilford said, opening the box to reveal a lavish ring. “I had to sell a few of my prized hunting trophies to pay for it, but... to me, it was worth it. Look at it... it’s silver. I remember you preferred silver to gold. And this stone... little diamonds, and an opal. It’s the stone of October. That was the month when we first met. I had it carved into a lovely rose because I knew how much you loved roses. And... on the inside... an inscription. _‘To my beloved Celine. The moon of my night sky’._ After all these years... I finally get to learn what was so important about this ring...”

He closed his fist and the ring and box vanished. He was crying again, tears silently trailing down his face. His mouth was pressed into a tight line, no doubt trying to hold back sobs.

“Well, I suppose it’s good that you left when you did,” said Wilford. “Marriage wouldn’t have worked. After all... ‘in sickness and in health’ is one of the vows, is it not?”

“You would wave your gun around and fire it indoors,” Celine said angrily.

“It was _my_ house,” Wilford growled.

“And it was _my_ safety,” Celine argued back. “I didn’t feel safe around you anymore. And you didn’t even care about how you were acting.”

“You could have at least told me to my face,” said Wilford. “Not rope your brother into some spineless plot to get me out of the house and then remove yourself from my life.”

“I thought you would hurt me if I told you!” Celine said.

“I kissed your feet like the goddess I thought you were!” Wilford said. “I would have never hurt you. I would have cried, I would have begged, I would have hated myself... but I would _not_ have hurt you.”

“We should move on,” Damien said. “The past is over and nothing can change it. You are arguing over gravestones in a cemetery...”

Wilford shook his head.

“So this is the big secret,” he said. “I’m a murderer and my friends have been under my nose this whole time...”

“I was trying to protect you,” said Dark. “I didn’t want you to have another breakdown or hate yourself for what you did that night.”

“Ah yes...” said Wilford. “What I did... I created you.”

“What?” Dark’s eyes widened.

“You said this is the poor DA’s body,” said Wilford. “Warped and twisted and given a new look by dark magic. If I had missed... if I hadn’t killed them... they would have lived. You wouldn’t have possessed their body... you wouldn’t have walked out of that manor... you would not be sitting here arguing with me right now. You are here because I killed the DA..."

Celine and Damien gasped as they realized that Wilford was right.

“Life... is often a bit funny, isn’t it?” Wilford said. “How so much can hinge on something so minor. Your very existence, and the events that sprung from your existence... all relied on the path of a bullet. If I had missed... if the DA had stepped just a little bit to the side...”

He closed his eyes and a few more tears slid out.

“They would have lived. Who knows what they could have done with their life?” He said. “Though... Unus did tell us that we die when we are meant to. I suppose... there was nothing that could have been done. We were all nothing but pieces on a game board. Serving our purposes until the end...”

“Wilford...” Dark tried to speak, but Wilford held up his hand to silence him.

“This life... makes me so weary,” he said. “It’s no fun when I must return to this simple reality. I much prefer to stay behind the walls. To walk the hidden corridors...”

He turned around and walked to the door. His aura had uncovered it by now.

“Where are you going?” Dark asked.

“I need to think,” Wilford said, not turning around. “And I daresay you do too. I’ll see you later...”

He walked out of the room as casually as if nothing had happened at all, leaving Dark and the two souls behind.

“Why are we doing this?” Madpat asked.

He was sitting on the couch with his legs draped over Shawn’s lap. Shawn was busy wedging some foam between Madpat’s toes.

“Yandereplier did this to me once” he said. “It’s pretty relaxing, and I figured you could use some relaxation.”

“I’m not angry anymore,” Madpat said.

“Still,” Shawn held out a few nail polishes. “Pick a color.”

Madpat chose a shade of green that matched the color of his aura and Shawn got to painting his nails. Madpat had to admit that it was pretty nice. Shawn wasn’t the best at it, but he did a decent job. He had just finished when Madpat’s phone began to ring.

Madpat looked at the screen, and his face paled.

“It’s Matt,” he said, holding the phone out as if it were a bomb.

“Answer it,” Shawn said.

“I can’t!” Madpat said. “I’m scared of what he’s going to say.”

“Oh give me that,” Shawn took the phone and answered it. “Hello, Shawn speaking.”

“Sean?” Matt sounded surprised. “Is that you? Why are you in California? Why do you have Madpat’s phone?”

“Not _that_ Sean,” Shawn chuckled. “I’m the one who came to dinner with Madpat."

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Matt said. “You guys sound just alike, it's hard to tell over the phone. I was hoping to talk to Madpat. Is he there?”

Shawn glanced at Madpat who was silently pleading with him.

“Sorry, he’s not here. I think he went out somewhere,” said Shawn.

“Oh,” Matt sounded disappointed. “Well... can you tell him to call me, please? I was wanting to set up another dinner with him.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Shawn. “I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks. Um... have a great day,” Matt said as he ended the call.

Shawn tossed the phone back to Madpat and started putting a top coat on his toenails.

“He wants to have dinner with you again,” he told Madpat.

Madpat groaned and flopped backwards against the arm of the couch.

“This is it,” he said. “He wants to tell me that he never wants to see me again.”

“Why so pessimistic?” Shawn asked. “You should listen to Sean more when starts going on about that PMA. Just relax. I bet he’s not going to say that.”

Madpat wanted to believe him, but a voice in the back of his head told him that Shawn was probably wrong.


	35. The Act of Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little breather courtesy of The Author. To let you guys catch your breath after that last chapter.

**Would you like to hear a story?**

**There once was a man who lived alone on a beach. Every day, he would sail out to sea and catch fish for his meals. He never caught much, but he always caught enough to last him for the rest of the day. This was because he did not believe in taking more than you needed. Save the rest of the fish for the other creatures and the other people who fished...**

**One day he noticed a mangled bit of fishing net was tangled around a buoy as he was sailing back to his home. Something was stuck in it, so he sailed closer to see what it could be.**

**It was a mermaid. A beautiful mermaid with hair that looked like the most beautiful green sea plants. Her eyes shone like a pair of pearls, and her tail was a deep blue color.**

**She was completely helpless. The fisherman could have captured her and sold her for a fortune... but he didn’t. He retrieved his knife and quickly cut her free, bidding her a good day and then sailing off. The next day, he went right back to fishing as he usually did.**

**But soon a bad storm came in and damaged his boat beyond repair. The fisherman was devastated as were many of the people in the nearby town who had lost their boats to the storm. Many of them depended on the fish that were caught out at sea as there were only tiny fish that came to docks along the shores. Certainly not big enough to feed their families.**

**But the fisherman was determined. He would get by somehow.**

**He set up traps and nets along the docks and shore and he would sit on the end with his pole and try to catch fish... but it seemed as if the storm had disturbed their habitats enough that there were few to be caught. But the fisherman only caught what he needed. Even though his stomach rumbled for more food, he did not catch more. The other families needed the fish too...**

**After a week of little fish, the fisherman was surprised to see a large lobster caught in one of his traps and several large fish caught in his net. These were creatures that could only be caught out at sea, certainly not the kind that came close to the shores. The fisherman thanked the saints of his town and quickly carved up the fish and lobster. He kept what he needed and then took the rest into town to share with the others. The other families were grateful and children would give him little tokens they had created as a means to thank him.**

**The next day he caught two lobsters, a crab, and several more fish. Again, he carved up the meat, kept what he needed, and gave the rest away. Inspired by his generosity, the other people in town began to share their own wares. Blankets, candles, fire wood, fruits, vegetables, spices, anything that people had an excess of, they kept what they needed and gave the rest away to the other people in town.**

**The people in town soon began to do much better than before, and the better they did, the more they shared... until not a single house was left needing or a single stomach was left empty. The fisherman was proud of his town. And soon, people were able to repair the damages to their boats. When they were finished, they helped other people repair or rebuild their boats.**

**They to help the fisherman, but he refused. He told them to help the others first. He was catching plenty of fish and had plenty of other supplies thanks to the kindness of the townspeople. He could wait a bit longer until everyone else was taken care of.**

**One afternoon, he went out to check his net earlier than usual... and he saw the mermaid from before. She had caught several big fish and was dumping them into the net. The fisherman realized that she had been the one to help him catch the fish and the creatures that he had been sharing with the others. She had been catching them and then putting them in his traps and net.**

**The fisherman refused to let her go unrewarded. He began leaving delicious fish cakes and other foods with his net or little trinkets for her to wear in her hair. He even wove a lovely shawl and left it out for her as well. Every day, he was happy to see that his gifts were gone by the time he came to check his net.**

**When his boat was finally rebuilt, he sailed out into his usual spot and began to fish. This time, he caught more than he needed, intending to give the extra to the others in town, as they all had started doing every day.**

**As he packed up to sail home, the mermaid reappeared. She was wearing the trinkets in her hair and the shawl around her shoulders...**

**And let this be your lesson. One act of kindness can cause many more to follow. Even if you don’t think it will. Do not be afraid to be kind...**

“Oh, that was a beautiful story,” Jacques said. “Very beautiful.”

He began to clap and Author smiled widely. The others were still a bit nervous around him, but Jacques never failed to come to him for a story. Author was grateful for it, and he was glad it was Jacques. Jacques understood what it was like. He understood art.

“It’s a shame the others are not here,” said Jacques. “These stories are _magnifique._ They are really missing out.”

“Well... I understand their reluctance,” Author shrugged. “I imagine many of them don’t feel comfortable around me-”

The door to his room suddenly opened and Remus walked in with Eric trailing after him.

“Yo,” Remus waved. “Are we too late for the story?”

“Remus s-said that you t-tell really good stories,” Eric said with a nervous smile. “I wanted t-to hear one...”

“Oh,” Author blushed slightly. “Well, I just finished one, but I can tell another one. If you’d like...”

Remus sat on the floor and let Eric sit in the nearby chair. Jacques beamed at them both.

“Let me just think...” Author mused. “Ah! Once upon a time...”


	36. The Duel

“What do you mean there’s another one?” Marvin asked, on the phone with Chase.

“I mean just that,” Chase replied. “Jackie found another ego. Some kind of android named S34N. We had Sean come by and take a look at him and he thinks he came from that video where he met Bryan and Amelia...”

“Well is he ok?” Marvin asked. “Should we be concerned?”

“Not really,” said Chase. “Apparently Robbie’s his ‘owner’ now.”

Marvin blinked and then turned up the volume on his phone.

“Say that again,” he said.

“I said that Robbie is his owner,” Chase repeated.

So he definitely heard correctly the first time...

“How did _that_ happen?” Marvin said, sounding incredulous.

“He kept asking us who his owner was since he was programmed to follow orders, or something,” Chase said. “I don’t know how his system works, you’d have to ask Anti. I'm more a video editing software kind of guy. Anyway, Robbie wandered in and asked S34N to make him some pancakes, and S34N said that Robbie was now registered as his owner.”

“So what is he doing now?” Marvin asked, looking out a nearby window.

“Um...” he heard Chase move around for a bit and then there was silence. “He’s helping Robbie put a puzzle together. But other than that, he’s mostly just been cooking and cleaning. I don’t know if he was just some kind of domestic android or something or if he’s just following Robbie’s orders. Maybe you could have Google or Bing come by to take a look at him?”

“I’ll ask them,” Marvin nodded in agreement. “If they can’t, I’ll see if Madpat can do it. He’s been looking a little down lately, some tinkering might cheer him up...”

“Maybe,” Chase said. “But in the meantime, I don’t think S34N will be a problem. He’s pretty nice. Got that PMA, you know? But, uh... I do have some concerns about Jackie.”

“Jackie?” Marvin furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong with Jackie?”

“He’s... I don’t know how to describe it,” Chase was walking again, probably looking for privacy. “There’s been a few times where I’ve seen him sort of staring off into space, but he really looks like he sees something there. And then there were times when I overheard him talking to himself.”

“Well... he’s always been a bit quirky,” Marvin said. “Just... keep an eye on him and let me know if it gets any worse. I’ll try to come home when I can, but things are still a bit messed up here. A lot of stuff has gone down.”

“I don’t envy you,” Chase chuckled. “Oh! And before I forget, Jackie wanted me to ask you if you could check on Wilford.”

“Wilford?” Marvin repeated. “Why?”

“Dunno, he didn’t say,” Chase sighed. “But I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll let you know when his head starts spinning or he starts climbing up the walls and speaking in tongues.”

Marvin laughed at that, Chase had a great sense of humor.

“Ok,” he said, still chuckling. “Just keep me updated. I’ll be home when I can.”

Outside, there was a small group of egos gathered together.

In the middle stood Dawktrap and King of FNAF.

“There can be only one king,” said Dawktrap. “And I still say it’s Lewis.”

“King is in my name,” said King of FNAF. “I’m not giving up my crown for anyone.”

The two glared at each other as Bim strode forward.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” He announced, putting on his showman’s act. “Welcome to the FNAF Duel! Two egos will duke it out for the coveted title of King of Five Nights At Freddy’s! In one corner... you all know him for his lucky flannel shirt, his high pitched shrieks, and his hilarious flailing... it’s the King of FNAF!”

By now, the crowd of egos had grown, and King of FNAF preened at the applause that he got.

“In the other corner,” Bim continued, “you all know him for his impressive rapping skills, his dapper wardrobe, and his hypnotic eyes... it’s Dawktrap!”

Dawktrap smiled at his own applause, hearing a loud whistle come from Shawn.

“Kick his ass back to the ball pit he crawled out of, Dawktrap!” Shawn yelled.

“Now then, here are the rules,” Bim said. “No weapons. No special abilities. No dirty tricks. You fight honestly with the two hands your creator gave you, and that’s it. The fight keeps going until someone is either knocked out or taps out. Rounds will be three minutes each.”

King of FNAF handed off his crown to Yancy, and Dawktrap handed off his rabbit head to Madpat.

“Are you ready?” Bim asked Dawktrap.

Dawktrap nodded and got into a fighting stance.

“Are you ready?” Bim asked King of FNAF.

King of FNAF nodded and did the same.

“Then let’s get it on!” Bim waved his arm and then backed out of the ring.

King of FNAF and Dawktrap surged forward and the fight began.

The fight itself was actually pretty impressive. Even without weapons or abilities, the two could still cause a lot of damage. King of FNAF was a bit more polished, but Dawktrap had sheer ferocity. If there hadn’t been any rules against dirty tricks, King of FNAF would have had a few bitemarks...

They went a total of six rounds, each time getting more and more aggressive. Bim had to stop the match a few times when they went a bit too far, pulling them back down to a safer level. The crowd of egos ate up the entertainment and several of them were even placing bets with what money or valuables they had.

But the end of the match... ended up being a draw.

Dawktrap and King of FNAF were both beaten and out of breath as they lay on the ground. Bim glanced between them before shrugging.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the match... is a draw,” he said.

The crowd began to boo and yell at Dawktrap and King of FNAF to get back up and keep fighting, but the two egos didn’t move.

“Rematch?” Dawtrap asked, turning his head to look at King of FNAF.

“Sure,” King of FNAF groaned. “Another day...”

The limply shook on it and then flopped back against the ground.


	37. The Authors' Note

**Um... H-Hello everyone. It’s me... The Author. Not the, um... not the _real_ author, the other one. Th-The one you’ve been reading about.**

**I know we don’t have the best relationship, and usually Wilford does these little notes, but... he’s still... unavailable at this time. So the real author asked me to speak to you instead. They also said it might h-help...um... it might help me feel more comfortable with all of you...**

**Anyway, the author wanted me to tell you that they will be taking a short break from this story. They know that they said it before, and then they were back to updating pretty quickly, but this time they mean it. Not for long, maybe a few days, they hope to update again sometime this weekend or after the weekend. They say they are very sorry, but they need to catch up on their sleep and give their hands a break as their wrists have gotten sore from typing so much both at home and at work. I certainly can’t get mad at them as I have neglected my own health while writing books and I can understand that when you get the inspiration, you can’t help but keep going because if you break your momentum, you could forget everything or lose the motivation.**

**But, the author made the right choice and will be taking a short break.**

**In the meantime, the author did say that they love it when you guys interact with each other in the comments. So if you guys would like to maybe take the time to talk to each other, that would be great. You can talk about the story, how the egos are written, who your favorite is and why. You can talk about regular stuff about yourselves or what youtubers you like to watch. You can just spread some love, or talk about anything, really. Just take some time to get to know your fellow readers. And don’t be shy, there will be no insulting or judging anyone here.**

**Anyway, the author would also like to express their thanks to everyone for reading and commenting and coming back after the last story. They very much appreciate every single one of you and you are the reason they were updating so quickly in the first place. Because they loved seeing you all scream or cry or get excited about what was happening.**

**The author and I hope that everyone has a great day, and thanks again for reading.**


	38. The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **You are supposed to be resting!**  
>  It's just one chapter, leave me alone. You of all people should know that sometimes you can't fight inspiration. And anyway, my wrists feel way better now.  
>  **Ugh, fine! But only one chapter for the day. No more until at least tomorrow. Now get back into bed!**

“I’ll be writing again in just a few months,” Author sounded like he still couldn’t believe it. “I can’t wait!”

“I bet you’ve missed it,” Jacques smiled. “I cannot even imagine how hellish life would be if I could not paint. I might die of sorrow...”

“I had no idea it was that bad,” Marvin scratched the back of his head. “I guess I’d have to be one of you to really understand.”

“We are an odd sort,” Jacques nodded. “But we stick together.”

“Artists?” Marvin asked.

“I prefer... _Les enfants des muses,”_ said Jacques. “Children of the Muses. Like our friend here. Which muse guides your hand?”

“Um...” Author looked confused. “I don’t... I don’t know...”

“Well, there is no muse for prose, but... do you write poetry?” Jacques asked.

“I do,” Author nodded. “I like to write these big adventures and things like that.”

“Ah,” Jacques smiled. “You are a son of blessed Calliope. She was the muse of epic poetry.”

“I don’t remember a muse for painting,” Marvin said.

“That’s why I defer to Apollo himself,” said Jacques. “Well... him and someone else.”

“Who else?” Marvin asked.

“You will laugh at me if I tell you,” said Jacques. “Don’t worry about it. In the meantime, will you tell us a story Author? Or one of your epic poems?”

“Oh,” Author perked up. “Sure. Let me just think for a moment...”

Security Nate and Security Mark were having a slow day. Not many egos were coming in, but it was understandable since they had the bulk of them already residing in the house. Dark and Host had had to expand the house twice, adding more rooms and more space each time. It made for quite the hectic residence, but the security egos loved it. You didn’t work at a place like Freddy Fazbear’s if you weren’t an adrenaline junkie...

“Here we are,” Chefiplier came over, holding two plates. “Two cheesesteaks, one with jalapenos, one with mushrooms. Hot and fresh off the grill.”

“Yes...” Nate nearly drooled. “Oh, that smells delicious. Thanks bud.”

“Yeah, thanks man,” Mark said as he took his plate.

“I’ll be by later to pick up your plates,” said Chefilplier. “Do you need anything else?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Mark took a bite. “Nothing really going on now...”

“Slow day today,” Nate agreed. “But thanks.”

After they were done eating, it was still pretty quiet. They chatted with each other or played Among Us on their phones with other egos in the house. It looked like the day was going to end on a peaceful note.

Until someone decided to show up...

“Hello,” the ego said in a deep voice.

Mark and Nate stared.

The ego was one of Mark’s egos, but it wasn’t one they’d seen before. He was very tall and dressed in a red and black suit with a long black fur coat. His long hair was tied back, and he had yellow eyes and horns on his head.

“I heard that this place was a safehouse for egos,” he said, smiling with fanged teeth.

His smile made the security egos’ skin crawl. This ego had bad news written all over him and made them both feel anxious.

“I think you should leave,” Mark said bluntly. “Now, please.”

“Well...” the ego tilted his head. “That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? I only came to see if it was true. Surely you could... indulge my curiosity.”

Nate carefully pressed a hidden button under the desk.

“I’m asking you one last time to leave before we make you leave,” Mark stood up, glaring at the ego in front of him. The ego towered over him and kept his grin on his face, eyes flashing.

“You think you can make me leave?” the ego said. “I could almost laugh if it weren’t so pathetic...”

He moved as if to grab Mark, but then a dark portal opened and Darkiplier stepped out. His eyes narrowed at the other ego.

“What are you doing here, Devil Mark?” He asked.

Devil Mark’s grin widened as he stepped away from the security egos and turned his attention to Dark.

“Darkiplier,” he said. “Long time no see.”

“I was hoping to never see you again,” Dark growled. “You know that you are not welcome here, so leave.”

“Why wouldn’t I be welcome?” Devil Mark tilted his head. “I am an ego, aren’t I? Perhaps I need shelter. The world is dangerous these days. Especially after all that nasty business that I heard about with our poor Actor. Murdered in cold blood, I heard. Maybe there are others out there that I need protection from.”

“I know that you live in a mansion,” said Dark. “You don’t need help. You’re here looking for deals, and I am not about to expose this house to someone like you so that you can take advantage of the egos here and steal their souls.”

“I merely provide a service, Darkiplier,” Devil Mark tried to look innocent, but it was impossible for him to do so. “Giving people their heart’s desire, what can be better than that? Surely someone here needs something that only I can provide-”

“No one here needs you or your ‘services’,” Dark stepped forward, aura fanning out. “Leave now or I will make you.”

Devil Mark was even taller than Dark, and his eyes flashed again.

“Very well,” he said after a minute. “If you’re really so cruel as to toss me out like garbage, I cannot stop you. But... I think I’ll come again another day and see who would like to make a deal with me. You cannot protect everyone. Greed and desperation will always win out.”

There was a flash of fire and smoke, and when it vanished Devil Mark was no longer there. The security egos slowly rose up from where they’d been taking shelter behind their desk.

“You ok, Boss?” Security Nate asked.

Dark looked at him with a shocked expression, huffing a short laugh. They were asking him if _he_ was ok. As if he wasn’t far more powerful than they were...

“I’m going to see if I can’t find someone a bit more powerful to help you two,” he said. “I have a feeling that he will be back, and I don’t want you two in danger. If you have anyone in mind, let me know. Otherwise, I’m going to go through our list and find someone suitable.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Security Mark sighed. “That guy was scary.”

“I bet,” Dark said as he turned away. “And that was just his human form...”


	39. The Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone worries about me, I have taken time off work and have been resting and sleeping and drinking water and playing video games. My wrists feel fine, and I am taking it easy with the writing. Notice how it's not multiple chapters a day now, and no early morning or late night postings. I know I said I would wait until longer to post, but I am feeling better and I really miss you guys. So for now I'm taking it easy with just one chapter instead of two or three.
> 
> But thank you all for caring about me. I appreciate it. XD

Madpat felt like he was going to vomit. He smoothed out his jacket and fidgeted with the charm on the necklace he was wearing. The charm was the chemical diagram for Serotonin. Shawn had gotten it for him as a joke, but Madpat rarely took it off, finding comfort in it. And it gave him something to fidget with.

“You can do this,” Shawn was at his side. “Everything will be ok. I’ll be right out here waiting for your text, ok?”

“Yeah,” Madpat nervously nodded.

“Come on...” Shawn said. “You faced down the Actor. You died, for Boris’s sake! You can go in there and talk to them.”

“I think I’d rather fight The Actor again,” Madpat confessed with a nervous giggle. “He didn’t make me nervous like this.”

“Look, whatever they say, I’ll take you out for some ice cream afterwards,” Shawn said as he brushed some lint from Madpat’s shirt. “Now... go on up there and ring the bell. I bet they’re waiting for you.”

“Right,” Madpat shook out his hands and gave a few bounces on his feet. He could do this. He could do this...

He stepped up to the door and rang the bell. As he waited, he glanced back to see Shawn give him a thumbs up. He quickly turned back around as the door opened. Matt smiled and opened the door wider.

“Hey,” he said. “Come on in...”

Madpat swallowed as many nerves as he could before he stepped inside.

Shawn waited just as he said he would. He’d brought Eric’s Nintendo Switch with him and was trying to catch an oarfish for Eric’s character.

“Dammit,” he growled. “Another stupid sea bass. I have more than enough of those!”

His gaming skills were by no means as polished as his creator’s, but he liked to think he was getting pretty decent. Especially when he considered that the only buttons and levers he’d ever operated before were the ones in the factory.

He heard the doorknob turn and quickly saved his game before shutting it off. The door opened and Madpat slowly stepped outside.

“How did it go?” Shawn asked.

Madpat walked right by him without saying anything.

“Hatter?” Shawn sounded concerned. “Hatter, what happened?”

“Keep walking, Shawn,” Madpat said softly.

Shawn could see that his hands were shaking.

“Hatter,” He jogged ahead and walked backwards to keep his eyes on Madpat. “Hatter, you’re worrying me. Please tell me what happened...”

“They... they don’t w-want anything to do with m-me,” Madpat said, voice laden with emotion. “They said that they h-have to think of their son, and they... they don’t know if they can trust m-me...”

Shawn was torn. On the one hand, he could respect their concerns for their son’s safety. He certainly had been very protective of his nephew back in the day. But on the other hand, he felt like they weren’t being fair. Sure, Madpat had gone through rough times and hadn’t always been the nicest person... but he had changed so much and he’d wanted a relationship with his creator so badly...

“Well... it’s their loss,” he said. “They can judge you all they want, but to me... you’ll always be the cat’s pajamas.”

Madpat said nothing, now sobbing softly. Shawn wanted to run back and yell at the couple, but he knew Madpat wouldn’t want that. He settled for mentally cursing them while he rubbed Madpat’s back.

“Do you still wanna get some ice cream?” He asked.

Madpat shook his head.

“Wanna go back home and eat the ice cream that’s already there and watch some bad movies?” Shawn asked.

Madpat thought for a moment and then nodded. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes with his jacket sleeve.

Shawn powered up his pocket watch and teleported them out of there. They had both failed to notice that someone had been watching them.

Someone with horns and a fur coat...

**ELSEWHERE**

Wilford was in his room when the door opened and Dark walked in. Wilford looked to see that Dark was carrying the portrait.

“I’ve decided to give it back,” Dark said. “I... I shouldn’t have taken it. And I shouldn’t have hidden the past from you. I was... we were worried about the effects it would have on you. But you deserved to know. I’m sorry.”

He held the portrait out. Wilford stared at it for a moment before he took it into his hands. He looked up at Dark and then... the portrait promptly burst into pink flames.

 _“What the-”_ Dark flinched back. “Will! What are you doing?”

“This man is dead, Dark,” Wilford said. “I am not him anymore. I have waded through the muck of reality and have emerged an entirely new man. I have cast off my tattered uniform and adopted a new one. A better one.”

He watched the portrait burn, ash falling to the ground.

“I am putting the past to rest,” he continued. “It was not a pleasant one and I don’t wish to dwell on it. I understand why you kept it from me... and I appreciate that you were looking out for my well being... but please do not do it again. A man’s past is very important for him to know... lest he repeat it. And I do not wish to repeat anything that I did.”

The last of the portrait burned away, leaving a pile of ash and cinders on the floor. Dark stared at it and then looked up at Wilford, who was smiling at him.

“My name is Wilford Warfstache,” Wilford said. “I was once Colonel William Barnum, but I am not him anymore. I have been through too much and I have seen too much. As you have too, I’m sure. But I am still your friend. That will not change.”

Dark slowly smiled and then sighed.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said. “I promise to not keep secrets like this from you anymore. But... Jacques might be a bit angry when he finds out you burned the painting he made...”

“Nonsense,” Wilford gave a dismissive wave. “I bought it from him, it was mine to do with as I pleased. Thank you for telling me, Dark. **And thank you for telling me too.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I have that necklace that Madpat is wearing.


	40. ????

**Such cruel words...**

**But cautious too...**

**So I am not the only one who knows about The Unfortunate. And you are all uncertain if I can hear you or not.**

**I can.**

**I cannot see you unless I focus on you, but I can hear you. It’s my power to know when I am close by someone whom I can make a deal with. Someone who desires something. You all desire something, don’t you? Something that you would give _anything_ to have.**

**You are not alone. So many people desire something. So many people are desperate for it. For many things. Happiness. Peace. Money. Fame. Family. Good health. And so many things in between...**

**Am I really so evil because I give these poor dears what they want? Because I take something in return that they give me willingly and freely? You think I’m the one who signs their contracts? They sign the contract themselves. They _always_ sign it themselves.**

**You all desire something... would you like to make a deal? I won’t lie... I never do lie... you will be giving me your soul in return. But how much is your soul really worth? Is it really all that valuable to begin with? Do you really need it?**

**So many questions, so many unknowns... except for one thing. I will give you what you want. I can guarantee that with the words in the contract. You will have _whatever you desire,_ doesn’t that sound wonderful? Anything, everything... you could ever desire...**

**Imagine it. Imagine having that one thing that you desire so much. Imagine how you’ll feel. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to finally have your heart’s desire? Whether it be something for yourself... or perhaps something for someone else?**

**Yes... these poor dears. Crushed beneath the cruelty of fate. The ones you all love so much. The ones who have found themselves to be in such pain...**

**I can help them. I can help them all. If you would be so kind as to _want_ to help them...**

**So... want to make a deal?**


	41. A Creation's Regret

_“Nein! Nein!”_

Henrik sighed heavily as the flatline continued to ring out. A nurse gently put her hand on his elbow, eyes full of defeat.

“Doctor... she’s gone. I’m sorry....” she said.

Henrik sighed again and shook his head.

“Very well...” he said. He announced the time of death and waited for the nurses to leave.

He ducked his head, willing himself not to cry.

“You are in Unus’s hands now,” he said softly to the young woman. “I wish you a safe passage to the other side...”

While it did bring him some comfort knowing that people died when they were meant to, and that he could not save them no matter how hard he tried, it still made him sad when he lost a patient in his care. He often wondered why they were meant to die at that particular point, but... he supposed he could not comprehend a plan that was stitched into the very fabric of the universe.

He did not pretend to know the plans of Time and Death...

Just like how he did not pretend to know the plans of his creator. He had tried connecting with Sean after he’d moved back, but it was proving to be a bit... difficult. Sean had apologized over and over for everything he had written about them, and Henrik knew that he hadn’t done it out of any sort of malicious intent. But it still stung that Sean had caused them all so much misery to begin with.

Granted, he was hardly the only one. Mark had certainly put his own egos through the ringer more than once, and they all had their own share of tragic backstories (Henrik had nearly flipped a table in anger when he’d heard Eric’s backstory), but it still made Henrik bitter to think that Sean had done so too.

Chase was still struggling with his depression from the divorce and losing his family, Jameson bore scars from the times Anti had attacked him in the past, and Henrik had his own scars and traumatic memories too. But he had stopped blaming Anti for what had happened.

If anything, the only egos who didn’t seem to be born of darkness and despair... were the fanon egos. The ones who hadn’t been written by Sean. The ones who had been written by... someone else.

Henrik knew that he was being unfair and judging too harshly, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it every time he saw Chase get teary eyed or whenever he saw one of his scars in the mirror. He couldn’t help but blame Sean for his unfortunate past, for losing his own family.

Really, making his wife leave him for a tennis instructor named Rick? He felt insulted.

But making his children go with her and never want to see or talk to him? He felt enraged.

He may have a strained relationship with his ex-wife, but he still loved his children.

At least it gave him and Chase something to bond over. Many a night they had stayed up late sharing pictures of their children and cursing their ex-wives, each one wondering how things would be if Sean had decided on different stories for them.

If Sean had given them a happy ending...

What was it about creators giving their egos tragic stories? Did creators just enjoy putting their characters through horrible things? Did creators enjoy hurting their characters for the sake of a story? Why not give them a bit of happiness sometimes?

Henrik left the hospital at the end of his shift and caught a cab home. It was far too late at night for the buses to be running. He paid the driver and even gave him a nice tip... failing to see the driver’s yellow eyes in his haste to get out...

Henrik entered the house and locked the door behind him, hearing the television running in the living room. It was past midnight, who could still be awake?

He walked into the living room to see Anti lying on the couch and staring at the television. Henrik could tell he wasn’t actually watching it, because it was showing some children’s cartoon. Anti hated children’s shows. They were too sappy for him, or so he claimed.

“Bad night?” Henrik asked, sitting on the nearby armchair.

“Yeah,” Anti sighed. “Had a pretty bad nightmare. I don’t think I’m gonna be sleeping anymore tonight...”

“Was it about Jaime again?” Henrik asked.

“Chase,” said Anti. “The night I took his kids...”

Henrik sighed.

Speaking of pasts, Anti had been having nightmares about his own. He hated it. He told Henrik that sometimes he regretted having Jameson teach him how to feel something other than the hate and anger he’d felt before. Because now he was hurt by nightmares and felt immense guilt over what he had done in the past.

True, he knew that Sean had been the one to orchestrate everything, but guilt hardly followed logic, and it clung like an angry octopus...

“How long have you been having nightmares?” Henrik asked.

Anti shrugged, not looking away from the television.

“I don’t have to sleep as much as you guys,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Still, this is all having a very negative effect on your health and I am worried,” said Henrik. “I have seen the effects of lack of sleep, and they are not pretty. Perhaps I can prescribe you something-”

 _“No,”_ Anti finally looked at him. “No medication. I have never taken medication and I have no idea how my system will take it. It could end up making things worse. Just... don’t worry about it. These things happen, I’ll be fine.”

Henrik frowned and opened his mouth to say something else-

“What about you?” Anti asked. “You had a bad day too, didn’t you?”

“How can you tell?” Henrik asked.

“Your hair is a mess,” said Anti. “It only gets messed up on bad days because you grip it or run your hands through it so much.”

Henrik blinked. Was that all it took, or was Anti just very observant?

“I lost a patient,” he said. “A young woman.”

Anti clicked his tongue in sympathy. That was about all he gave for sympathy, but Henrik knew he was being genuine. Anti just still had trouble expressing his new emotions was all.

“You ever think about talking to Sean?” Henrik asked. “Maybe... maybe he could change things? Change _us?”_

“You saying you want to be changed?” Anti glanced at him again.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind having my wife and kids back,” Henrik mused. “I’m sure Chase would agree.”

“Don’t go wishing for things like that,” Anti shook his head. “it never ended well for anyone.”

“Maybe,” Henrik said. “Still... it’s a nice thought...”


	42. ????

**Oh.**

**I see...**

**I understand now.**

**You’re everywhere, aren’t you? I could sense you at so many places.**

**You’re going to be a problem, I can tell. But... luckily for me, I am very good at fixing problems. I have the perfect spell for you. A spell to silence you and hide you from them. A spell to keep you from interfering with my deals. I hope you enjoyed talking to them... because you will not be able to do so anymore.**

**Behold!**

**And thus... the shattered wall is now repaired...**

**And you are now nothing more than observers...**


	43. The Paranormal Investigator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that I also have lots of Sanders Sides content if anyone is interested...

Devil Mark knew the chaos that came with being a fanon ego very well.

Being canon gave you a solid form and a structure upon which to stand, even if the foundation wasn’t always the strongest. But a fanon ego had no such things, forced to struggle in a tumultuous ocean with crushing waves until they created their _own_ structure upon which to stand.

He’d struggled, he’d fought, he’d cursed his own existence over and over until he finally had a clear mind and a clear form. Of course, his true form was a bit more... beastly, so he’d created a human form to use most of the time.

His skills and powers had been a mess as well. A swirling vortex of so many different things that it had been dizzying to even try to figure it out. The only thing the fans had been able to agree on was that he was immensely powerful. As the dust settled and Devil Mark finally appeared in the real world, his powers painfully settled as well, leaving him with an aura that looked and smelled like black smoke.

From there, he’d set out to find his way in the world. He learned of other deal makers, other demons, and they worked out a sort of truce to not encroach on each other’s territory. Though, Devil Mark had kept his mouth shut about the hilarity of Natemare and Phantom sharing a residence...

Devil Mark had several charms, and he eagerly began to hone them into deadly weapons, using them to find the desperate and the greedy among humans and entice them into deals that offered them their heart’s desire. He’d never hidden anything in the contract, always gave them time to read it thoroughly, and made it clear just what they were giving up.

Some refused.

Most signed anyway.

Devil Mark would never be able to understand how humans could give up their souls for material desires, but a few did give up their souls to heal loved ones or other such noble acts. Those... he gave them different contracts. Not quite as punishing as the ones he gave the greedy.

People thought he was evil, and maybe they were right in some skewed way. But he was only as evil as he was perceived to be. He did no more harm than Phantom did, and it wasn’t like he was doing this as a hobby.

He had a fire that his aura branched off from. If the fire dies, so does Devil Mark. How does he keep it burning? Contracts. Each contract that he burns to collect on fuels his flame and strengthens his aura. He did go a bit crazy and collect on more than he needed at first, but it was partly out of the euphoric feeling of feeding his fire and partly from the panic of not knowing how often or how much he needed to feed it so that he could stay alive.

Now that he knew, he was much more relaxed and stable.

He’d tried to connect with other egos, but most of them were under the care of Darkiplier, and Darkiplier wanted nothing to do with him. Devil Mark supposed he couldn’t blame him. Mark’s egos were notoriously desperate for something or greedy for something else. They would have been insultingly easy to convince to sign a contract.

Call him evil, Devil Mark didn’t care. He was merely doing what was in his nature to do and surviving from it. No one else seemed to think about that...

As such, it was no surprise to him when he ended up... utterly alone.

Well, not quite.

The Actor had been nice enough to entertain him for a drink every now and then. He wasn’t afraid because he’d apparently sold his soul to a different demon many years ago and no longer had one to offer. But Devil Mark didn’t care. It was nice to get away from business sometimes.

He wouldn’t say Actor was a friend. Actor didn’t make friends, he just made connections with people that he could manipulate for his own gain. Actor had even tried a few times to get Devil Mark to do something for him under the guise of ‘friendship’, but Devil Mark was no one’s dog. He didn’t do tricks on command.

But it still hurt that Actor was gone. Now he was _truly_ alone.

And his fire was growing low again...

**ELSEWHERE**

“You burned the portrait?!” Jacques asked.

“I bought it,” said Wilford. “It was mine to do with as I please.”

“I don’t care about that,” Jacques rolled his eyes. “Some paints give off toxic fumes when burned!”

“Well, then you should stop using such toxic paints,” Wilford shrugged.

“Or you should stop burning my paintings,” Jacques huffed and flicked some paint at Wilford.

Wilford just laughed as he watched Jacques paint. It was interesting to watch Jacques paint, and he often likened it to watching a spider build a web.

“Why did you even burn it?” Jacques asked. “Did you not like it?”

“No, the quality was superb,” Wilford said. “I just didn’t like the subject as much.”

“You knew him?” Jacques asked.

“In a way,” Wilford shrugged. “Not anymore. He died a long time ago.”

He tilted his head, watching Jacques mix colors.

“Have you ever tried watercolor?” He asked. “Or only oil paints?”

“Watercolor is a bit more difficult,” Jacques said. “Water gets everywhere and stains everything and then your red paint looks like pink water-”

“Pink water?” Someone suddenly appeared next to Jacques.

 _“Sapristi!”_ Jacques flailed, swinging his paintbrush and nearly dropping his paints.

“Oh, hello Paranormal,” Wilford smiled.

The man that was now standing next to Jacques was wearing a plum colored suit with a dark turtleneck and round glasses. He was one of Mark’s egos.

“Would you say that this water looked like... blood?” Paranormal steepled his fingers glancing curiously at Jacques’s painting.

“Who are you?” Jacques had never seen this guy before.

“I don’t exactly have a name,” said the new ego. “Fanon ego, as it were. I have adopted the name ‘Paranormal Investigator’, but you may call me Paranormal for short.”

He slowly offered his hand with a flourish. The man kind of reminded Jacques of Bim, if he was being honest. Only while Bim spoke loudly, this man’s tone was very soft and almost gentle. Still, he shook the ego’s hand.

“Pink water is always a sign of the otherworldly,” Paranormal picked up the cup of water that Jacques was using to rinse his brushes. He tossed the water into the air, and Jacques moved to shield his painting... but then the water froze and hung in the air.

Jacques blinked and stared at the water, reaching out to curiously touch a few of the hanging drops. Paranormal’s hand began to move, and the water moved with it. He was controlling it!

“Such... apparitions of the astral plane,” Paranormal continued, water swirling around his fingers. “Such specters and phantoms peddling their alchemies and their pretty words. We are all blind to their suffering and their taunts... except for when they wish us to see. Only then are they revealed.”

He held the water up in his hand, and it began to fan out slowly.

“Water... can show you these things. A clear window of the very thing that makes up this world and so many others. The very thing that gives us life... and can also grant us death. So giving... so _unforgiving._.. on a whim,” Paranormal looked at Jacques through the water that was spreading between them.

“Yes..” Paranormal nodded. “You... you will have a great part to play.”

He then picked up Jacques’s cup and slowly dumped the water back into it, not looking away from Jacques all the while.

“We will speak again,” he said. “You will find me if you need me, don’t worry. I will be there...”

He smiled and then turned away and left the room, leaving Jacques to stare after him in confusion.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Wilford smiled.


	44. The Ways of Water

Paranormal wouldn’t call himself eccentric.

Hell, it was hard to call yourself eccentric when you were one of many creations and they were all weird in some way. But that didn’t stop the _others_ from calling him eccentric. They found it difficult to understand his obsession with ghosts and water. They were a bit put off by the way he moved and spoke.

Well, _almost_ everyone.

Roman and Remus certainly seemed to like him. Roman liked his style and his grace while Remus just liked to talk about ghosts and other monsters with him.

“Excuse me,” Paranormal said to the mermen in the living room. “If I may please borrow your water. I need to see something and then I will give it right back.”

“There’s a bathtub right down the hall,” MerMark frowned. “Go fill it and use that.”

“Yeah, we kinda need this water,” MerEthan said. “So scram.”

“Hmm...” Paranormal gave them a look. “Then instead of asking for your permission... I must beg your pardon.”

“Huh?” MerMark looked confused.

Paranormal raised his hands, and the water went with them. MerEthan and MerMark both gave high pitched shrieks as they fell from their water and hit the empty bottom of their little pool. They both growled at him, flopping uselessly and cursing all the while.

Paranormal swirled the water around him and then submerged himself. The water formed tightly around him and darkened until he couldn’t see the room beyond it.

He took a deep breath, pulling the water into his lungs and feeling so much better for it.

 _“Show me,”_ he said. _“Show me the truth.”_

The water rippled and then fell still, providing him with the window he wanted. Paranormal looked carefully, seeing something dark moving through the water. It was fuzzy around the edges, like fur... or smoke.

There was water on its face...

Then the form changed into another one. This one was more solid and a myriad of color. There was water in its cup.

The form changed again, into something dark grey and white. There was water falling all around it.

Paranormal committed the images to his memory and then let go of the water. It unraveled and fell back into the mermen’s pool, tossing them around in the waves.

“Hey!” MerEthan surfaced with a frown. “You do that again and I’m telling Dark that you got the curtains wet.”

“But I didn’t,” Paranormal said.

MerEthan splashed the nearby curtains while keeping eye contact with Paranormal.

“Don’t do it again,” he warned before disappearing back into the underwater tunnel.

Paranormal rolled his eyes and picked up his nearby cup of tea.

“That was incredible!”

Paranormal turned around to see both twins staring at him in awe.

“Are you a wizard?” Roman asked, taking his hand and examining it carefully.

“The term is ‘aquamancer’,” said Paranormal. “I can control water.”

He then made the tea in his cup swirl around and ripple. Remus tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“Were you scrying?” He asked. “I know it’s usually done with a _bowl_ of water, but hey... a little extraness never hurt anyone.”

“Scrying?” Roman frowned. “That’s dark magic.”

“Something like that. I was looking through the window to see what others cannot. I can do lecanomancy,” Paranormal addressed Remus. “It’s a bit cleaner, but... the water does feel so good sometimes... And it’s easier to look through a large window than a small one."

“I use blood,” Remus grinned. “And livers.”

“Haruspicy,” Paranormal tilted his head. “How intriguing. I’ve never seen it done.”

“I can show you!” Remus said. “Not... in here cuz Dark said no more bloodstains on the good carpet, but I can take you out into the woods. We can do it on a full moon! With a big bonfire! We’ll make a party out of it.”

“That does sound like a good time,” Paranormal nodded. “There’s also a lake out there so I can show you my own methods with greater detail.” He glanced at Roman. “You are welcome to join us if you wish.”

“No thanks,” Roman shook his head. “Last time Remus and I had a bonfire in the woods, he stripped naked and started dancing. And there’s only so many times you can fall for that invitation before you start refusing it.”

“Are you saying you don’t wish to see me naked?” Paranormal tilted his head.

“I’m saying... wait.... do you like... have the same body as Mark?” Roman asked slowly.

“Down to the very last hair on my head,” Paranormal winked.

Roman flushed and Remus cackled.

“Let me know when the party starts,” Paranormal smiled. “In the meantime, I have other important things to do. Lovely to see you again.”

Remus burst out laughing when Paranormal left.

“You are such a ho!” he said to his brother. “How many of Mark’s egos have you flirted with since we came here?”

“I can’t help it if they’re handsome!” Roman growled. “It’s in my nature to flirt!”

**ELSEWHERE**

Henrik entered the hospital room, looking through the chart he was carrying. Someone had been dumped outside and they had brought him in to be treated. The patient had multiple injuries and no identification on him. He’d finally woken up not long ago, and Henrik wanted to speak to him.

“Hello,” he greeted the patient. “You are finally awake. You had me worried for a bit, but it Is good to see... you’re...”

He trailed off when he saw the man lying in the bed. Though his face was bruised, Henrik still recognized it as Mark’s. He quickly closed the door and then walked back to the bed.

“You are an ego,” he said softly.

“You are too,” the patient said. “I’ve seen you before...”

“I have never seen you,” Henrik shook his head. “We put you into the system as John Doe. What is your proper name?”

“I am... I’m Devil Mark,” said the patient. “This is my human form, and it’s taking quite a bit of energy to maintain it. It’s why I’m so tired.”

“There are no cameras here,” Henrik said. “The window is covered. You can dispel the illusion if it will help...”

Devil Mark thought about it for a few minutes and then... he closed his eyes. Flash of black smoke bloomed and he sighed in relief. His horns were now visible, his eyes were now yellow, his teeth were fanged, and... he dug under the blankets and pulled out a classic demon’s tail.

“Thank you,” he said. “This feels much better.”

“What happened to you?” Henrik asked. “We found you out front in the parking lot. You have bruises, cuts, broken bones, and a nasty stab wound in your back.”

“I trespassed,” Devil Mark said. “Apparently... there are more of us than we all thought...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: Paranormal uses actual methods of telling the future, but he's not that good at them. His power is much like Jacques's dreams and paintings. They can both see past events or present events, but they cannot see the future. They can try, but it's not one of their actual abilities. Paranormal has aquamancy and he can see and speak to ghosts, and he can use water to see things that others can't...
> 
> Also, Paranormal is Mark's ego from The Drowned Man. He didn't have a name so I gave him one.


	45. The Absence is Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for mentions of self inflicted injuries

Jackie was confused.

He... hadn’t seen them in a few days. The Audience. He hadn’t heard them either. He’d tried speaking to them, he’d tried really looking around for any sign, but... nothing. There was no one for him to see or hear. It was as if they had all just... vanished.

 **“Hello?”** He tried again. **“Are you there? Were... were you _ever_ there?”**

They had spoken to him, they had interacted with him, they had told him how wonderful he was and expressed concerns about Wilford. He’d asked Chase to ask Marvin to check on him, but Marvin hadn’t called him to reassure him of anything.

Had... had they all just been some hallucination? The aftereffects of some evil trick the Actor had tried to cast on him?

Jackie stumbled into the house, tucking the key back into his utility belt. He yawned, feeling tired, and he was sore from the few injuries he had picked up from the criminals he’d apprehended. He walked into the kitchen and dug through the fridge from some leftovers. Henrik had kindly set aside a portion of chicken and rice for him to eat.

He sat at the kitchen table to eat and sighed.

Could he really have been hallucinating for so long? How long ago had it been that Actor had cast that spell? How long had he been seeing shadows and hearing voices?

Jackie set his dishes in the sink and leaned against it. He didn’t want to think that it had all been a trick, but now he was second guessing everything. He hadn’t been able to talk to Marvin yet, but he was so nervous to do so. He didn’t want anyone to think he was crazy...

But how could Jackie check to make sure it was all a trick?

He remembered the mirror back at the manor. He’d seen something in it, and Dark had dragged him away. Dark had said that it was a trick too, but...

Jackie walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. The mirror over the sink showed his reflection just fine, but... could he use it to see something that wasn’t there? He leaned in close, squinting his eyes as if it would help him see better.

 **“Hello?”** He tried again. **“Is... Is anyone there? Can you hear me?”**

Nothing. Just his reflection.

Jackie leaned back, feeling foolish.

“Maybe it was just a trick...” he said. “Damn... I’m such an idiot. I bet Henrik or Marvin have a perfectly good explanation for it all...”

He turned off the light and went to his room. He was tired, and it was very late. He’d worry about it in the morning...

**ELSEWHERE**

“He just stands there staring at the mirror in the entranceway,” Dr. Iplier said as he led Dark through the house. “He won’t respond to me at all! I’m getting really worried...”

“I’ll see what I can do...” Dark said. “Thank you for letting me know. Go back to the infirmary, I’ll speak to you again later...”

Dr. Iplier nodded and walked away. Dark sighed and snapped his neck back into place before walking into the foyer. Sure enough, Wilford was standing there in front of the mirror.

“Wilford?” Dark called, walking closer. “Will?”

Wilford slowly turned his head to look at Dark, a deathly serious expression on his face.

“Wilford?” Dark’s eyes widened. He had never seen Wilford look this serious before.

“...Something’s wrong,” Wilford said.

“Marvin! _Marvin!”_

Marvin looked up from his book in alarm as Mad Mike skidded into the room. He was out of breath and clearly distressed.

“Marvin! Your bro is freaking out. I could hear him all the way down the hall! I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he keeps yammering and sobbing in another language!” He said.

“Jacques?” Marvin tossed his book aside and followed Mike down the hall and up the stairs.

“I tried going to get Dr. Iplier, but he’s not in the infirmary,” Mike said as he led Marvin to the room that Jacques had been using as a studio. Even at a distance, Marvin could hear sobbing.

Marvin ran into the room and his eyes widened.

Jacques was kneeling on the floor, shaking with such horrible gut wrenching sobs. He was surrounded by a puddle of paint, but Marvin could see that he had vomited up most of it. The canvas that sat on the easel had blood dripping from it.

“Go find someone who can speak French,” Marvin pushed Mike out of the room. “Hurry!”

He then knelt by Jacques’s side.

“Jacques, what’s wrong?” he asked.

Jacques looked up at him, eyes red and puffy from crying. His hands were covered in bloody scratches, and he had both blood and paint staining his clothes.

 _“Ça fait mal,”_ he said. _“Ça fait mal!”_

“Jacques, I can’t understand you, please try to speak English,” Marvin was panicking. Something was obviously wrong with his brother, but he couldn’t communicate with him to find out what.

 _“Ça fait mal!”_ Jacques held up his hands. _“J'ai mal aux mains! Mes mains ne peuvent pas peindre!”_

“Jacques, please.” Marvin tried to comfort him. “Please speak English...”

“What is going on?”

Marvin looked back at the door to see Logan standing there.

“Please tell me you speak French,” Marvin said.

“I am still learning it, but I know enough to hold a conversation,” Logan said as he entered the room. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know!” Marvin snapped. “I can’t understand him. Please translate. Did you hear what he just said?”

“Um, yes...” Logan knelt down as well, putting down a towel so that he didn’t get paint on his pants. “He said that his hands hurt and they cannot paint. Which is understandable considering the self inflicted damage they show...”

 _“Le petit chien,”_ Jacques moaned. _“La petite chienne! Cela m'a quitté!”_

“The little dog has left him,” Logan translated.

“Dog?” Marvin looked confused. “Jacques, why is a dog so important? Did... did you have a pet that we didn’t know about?”

 _“Non!”_ Jacques growled. _“Le petit chien est ma muse! La petite chienne me donne des rêves et me dit quoi peindre! Je suis perdu sans ça!”_

“The little dog gives him dreams,” said Logan. “Tells him what to paint. He feels that he is lost without the little dog because the dog is his muse.”

“I thought he said his muse was Apollo,” Marvin was even more confused now. “How does a dog fit into this-”

Jacques then vomited paint and began to choke on it.

“Oh dear,” Logan grabbed Jacques and pulled him out. He carefully held Jacques up and then bent him over, allowing the paint to pass easier and clear his airway.

“I have no idea what’s wrong with him,” Marvin said. “I’ve never seen this before. And he’s not making any sense. He’s hurting himself too!”

He glanced at the canvas.

“And why is that dripping blood?”

 _“Cette chose n'acceptera pas mon sang,”_ Jacques panted. _“Ça ne me laisse pas peindre.”_

“He says the canvas will not accept his blood and let him paint,” said Logan. He gave Marvin a look. “Is he part of some sort of cult? This is very cultish behavior.”

“He’s an artist,” said Marvin. “I don’t think there’s much of a difference...”

Jacques continued to cry and vomit, falling to the ground and tensing as if in pain.

"Put him to sleep," said Logan. "He looks like he might start having spasms or seizures. Put him to sleep before that happens."

Marvin was quick to cast a spell, and Jacques's words and whimpers slowly faded as he fell unconscious. 

"Is there anyone else you can think of who might have an idea as to what's wrong with him?" Logan asked. "This is clearly something more than normal."

Marvin sighed as he tried to think.

"I can think of only one person," he said. "But I don't know how much they'll know about this..."


	46. The Bodyguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some filler for now...

Madpat hadn’t moved from the couch since he’d gotten back from his meeting with Matthew.

Well, he’d moved once or twice to shower because he couldn’t stand the feel of greasy hair, but that was about it. The rest of the time was spent sleeping or mindlessly whatever garbage was on the television. Really, how Madpat could stomach reality shows even when in a depressive mood was beyond anyone’s knowledge.

“Hatter, for the love of Bendy _and_ Alice, you have to get the hell out of this house,” Shawn said to him. “I can understand that you’re depressed, but lying here and watching... whatever this is... is not going to help you feel any better.”

He grabbed Madpat’s ankle and began to tug at him.

“Where would I even go?” Madpat’s voice was muffled by one of the throw pillows. “There is nothing out there that interests me anymore.”

“We could go to the arcade again!” said Shawn. “We can see if anyone’s beaten our high score on CarnEvil yet. And you said you would show me how to play that DDR stuff...”

Madpat groaned, but said nothing.

Shawn growled in frustration. Madpat could be infuriating at times. Shawn knew that Madpat was still devastated over his rejection, and he could understand. But Madpat _needed_ to go outside. He _needed_ to do something to get his mind off things.

Not for the first time, Shawn hated that he had missed so much in the span of time from his life as a character to now. Back in his day, depression wasn’t really a thing, and the treatments for mental health disorders... Shawn didn’t want to think about them. But he had seen people act like this many a time, and it never ended well. He could still remember after the market crashed, hearing about some of the people who had backed Joey Drew Studios. He still shivered when he thought about some of those stories...

He didn’t want that to happen to Madpat. Madpat was his best friend. But what could he do?

An idea struck him and he cringed. Desperate times, desperate measures.

“I’ll... I’ll tell you why I’m so good with a gun,” he said.

Madpat raised himself off the couch, looking at Shawn with a raised eyebrow. Shawn frowned and looked away.

“I know you’re curious, but you’re too nice to push the question,” he said. “But I’ll tell you if you go to the arcade with me and play some games.”

Madpat sat up, swinging his feet onto the floor.

“Shawn... you don’t have to-”

“Please?” Shawn gave him a worried look. “Please come with me?”

Madpat sighed... and got off the couch.

He would later admit that he did actually feel better. Shawn had that infectious energy that seemed standard with the all the Septic egos. His curiosity about the new time and world around him was endearing and he had a good sense of humor.

He was the little ray of sunshine that Madpat had needed to brighten up his gloomy days.

His emotional support Irishman.

“Were you in the war?” Madpat asked.

They were sitting at a table in the food court and sharing a plate of nachos. Shawn loved all the unhealthy snacks this era had to offer.

“Huh?” Shawn asked, shoving a cheesy chip into his mouth.

“Did you fight in the war?” Madpat asked. “Is that why you’re so good with a gun? I remember Jameson once mentioned that he fought in the war...”

“Oh,” Shawn chuckled nervously. “No... I didn’t fight in the war. I’d busted my wrist up pretty badly and they said I couldn’t fight.”

He rolled his hand around.

“Still gives me trouble sometimes,” he said. “It’s why I’d have trouble painting the smiles on the dolls some days...”

“Ouch,” Madpat grimaced in sympathy.

“For me to tell you the reason... I gotta explain a few things,” Shawn sighed. “Things were awful after the market crashed. The rich lost money, the poor lost money, and we all suffered for it. It was complete bushwa, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. When Mr. Drew lost his money, a lot of us were out of work, me included. I did the odd job here and there, anything I could to make a penny or two... but more often than not, I found myself standing in line for the soup kitchen and shivering with the rest of them...”

Madpat knew about the Great Depression. He knew a lot about it... but to hear it from someone who actually lived through it... it felt completely different. He hated the thought of his friend going cold and hungry out on the streets...

“I ran out of money to pay rent, and the landlord kicked me out,” Shawn continued. “In the middle of freaking Winter! Snow and ice outside, and now I had no shelter against it. I’d already sold everything I could just to pay rent for the other months, so I didn’t have much left. I... I don’t know how long I was on the streets. I think some part of me blocked it out. But... one day, I saw someone getting mugged. I fought off the mugger with my bare hands, and I gave him a good thrashing. The guy who was getting mugged? Freaking Mafia boss’s son. He was impressed. And he was in my debt. So he offered me a job as his body guard.”

Madpat’s eyes widened. Shawn working for the bob? That was something he thought he’d never hear. He leaned forward, captivated by Shawn’s story.

“They didn’t like me much because I’m lanky and I’m Irish,” said Shawn. “And I didn’t even _want_ the job. But then he gave me this huge wad of cash and told me this is how much I’d be paid. And suddenly... I had money. I could buy food, I could get a new apartment, I wasn’t cold and hungry anymore...”

He gave a sad chuckle and shook his head.

“I bought a gun and the son taught me how to use it. I practiced with it until I was the best shot they had. They started respecting me then,” he said. “But after a while I got scared that I was losing myself and becoming one of them. I packed up and ran. And that’s all there is to it...”

He took a drink of his soda and ate some more nachos while Madpat stared at him. It was unreal and almost wrong to think of Shawn as some bodyguard for the mob. Plucky, happy, sweet little Shawn Flynn... had killed people in his past.

Oh... but was that why he’d warmed up to Madpat so easily? Because he knew what it was like to regret the crimes you had committed in the past while you were trying to change yourself? Because he knew what it was like to make bad decisions in the name of survival...

“This doesn’t change anything,” Madpat said. “You’re still my best friend. My March Hare. My Alice. I don’t think any less of you. We both were dealt bad hands and we both did things we weren’t proud of because of it. But it’s not who we are now...”

Shawn was frozen, mouth full of nachos, and tears welling up in his eyes. He sniffled and choked down his mouthful of food. Before scrubbing at his eyes with his hand.

“Thanks,” he said. “It... it feels good to finally tell someone. And you’re right. We’ve both changed...”


	47. The New Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found these egos after digging around the internet, but there's not much about them out there, so... I get to play around with them a bit. XD

“Hello,” Security Nate beamed at the newcomer. “Are you here to register?”

“This... this is a safehouse, right?” the newcomer asked. “I heard... I just... I really need a place to stay.”

“Are you ok?” Security Nate asked. “Is there someone after you? You can still register, but for safety and security reasons, we need to know about any potential threats.”

“Um... yeah,” the newcomer looked away. “Yeah, there is.”

“You’ll need to speak to Darkiplier about it,” said Security Nate. “But, let’s go ahead and get you registered. We still have rooms left, so after registration you can go pick one for yourself. Vacant rooms have tags on the doorknob and blank nameplates. When you choose one, remove the tag and write your name on the doorplate.”

“Got it,” the newcomer seemed to be calming down a bit.

“Good, let’s begin.” Security Nate smiled again. “May I please have your name and the name of your Creator?”

“My name is Styler,” said the newcomer. “My creator’s name is Tyler Scheid.”

“Styler,” Security Nate eyed the newcomer’s colorful outfit and fluffy long hair. “Very fitting.”

Styler chuckled, smiling and definitely calming down.

“Are you known by any other aliases?” Security Nate asked.

“Um... no,” Styler shook his head. “I’m... I’m not very well known.”

“Do you have a profession?” Security Nate asked. “Or any talents specific to your creation?”

“Fashion designer,” said Styler. “I design and make clothes and accessories, stuff like that.”

“Great! Are you a canon ego or a fanon ego?” Security Nate asked.

“Fanon, definitely,” said Styler. “My creator apparently isn’t in the ego making business, but his fans... well, you know how they are.”

“Definitely,” Security Nate agreed. “Ok, so please step to the side and stand on the X so that we can get your picture. Do you have any bags that you need help with?”

“I only have this,” Styler pat the duffel bag that he was carrying. “But you could help with the ones under my eyes...”

The guards laughed at his joke, making Styler smile widely just in time for the picture flash. Security Mark nodded at the picture on his computer screen and saved it to the new file they had created.

“Ok, you’re all set,” Security Mark said. “You’re welcome to go in.”

“Um... before I do,” Styler leaned forward slightly, towering over the desk and the two egos. “Are there any other of my creator’s egos here?”

“Um...” Security Mark checked his computer. “Yes. There is one. His name is Benjamin.”

“Benjamin,” Styler looked confused. “Benjamin. Huh... that’s odd. Well, thanks for your help. Is Darkiplier here for me to speak to?”

“His office is right up the stairs,” said Security Mark. “He’s usually in there.”

Styler thanked them again and walked off towards the stairs.

“Please let him not find me here,” he said softly. “Please, please...”

“What do you mean you have one of Mark’s egos in your hospital bed?” Marvin asked, pacing as he spoke on the phone. Henrik had called him up with some curious news.

“I mean just that,” said Henrik. “He was assigned to me as a John Doe because he had no ID on him, but he’s definitely one of Mark’s. Apparently, he’s some kind of demon...”

“Demon?” Marvin repeated. “I didn’t think Mark had any other demon egos besides Dark.”

“Maybe he’s a fanon ego?” Henrik said. “I do not know. I just thought Dark would want to know since he’s always harping about how concerned he is about Mark’s strays.”

“Is the ego ok?” Marvin asked. “How bad is he?”

“He’s getting better,” said Henrik. “He has a few injuries, but... the main concern was how weak he is. He was unconscious for three days, and he’s barely able to move much even now. It’s tricky because he has to use magic to keep his demon traits hidden, and that’s just using energy he can’t exactly spare. But... I’ve been using my own abilities on him. With any luck, I’ll be able to ship him over to Dark as soon as I can. But... there is another concern...”

“Concern?” Marvin asked. “What’s wrong?”

“He said he got the injuries from another ego. A powerful and dangerous one,” said Henrik. “Another one of those edgy dark personas.”

“Edgy dark persona?” Marvin repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“His words, not mine,” said Henrik. “But maybe Dark should be given a heads up about this.”

“I’ll talk to him,” said Marvin.

“Good.” Henrik paused. “Now... are you sure you don’t need me to come over and help with Jacques?”

“I don’t think you’d be able to help much,” Marvin sighed. “I’m keeping him asleep for now. Logan said it will help keep him from getting too bad. I’ve called Phantom and Natemare over. Blank’s even going to be here. I’ll keep you updated.”

“I have a few brochures about taking care of coma patients,” said Henrik. “I can email them to you?”

Dr. Iplier already had plenty of brochures, but Marvin could tell that Henrik was just wanting to help somehow, no doubt he felt as useless as Marvin did.

“Sure,” Marvin smiled. “Send them over. They’ll be a big help.”

He could practically see Henrik’s smile.

“I have to get back to my rounds now,” Henrik said. “My break is over. I will call you later when I get off work, ok?”

“Thanks Henrik,” Marvin smiled. “You’re a good doctor and a better brother.”

“Ha!” Henrik said playfully. “Of course I am ze good doctah!”

Styler faced a pair of black doors. This had to be it. Guy with a name like Darkiplier? Of course he’d have black doors on his office...

Styler knocked and then waited, hoping that Dark was there.

“Come in,” he heard a voice from within.

Styler took a deep breath and then entered the office. Dark was sitting at his desk, and he glanced up to see who had entered. He blinked. This was a new ego...

“Hi,” Styler said nervously. “Um... my name is Styler. I was told I need to talk to you if there are any... security concerns.”

“Oh,” Dark gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please sit down.”

Styler did so, setting his duffel bag down on the floor. He took another deep breath and slowly let it out.

“Who do you have concerns over?” Dark asked. “I’ll need some details.”

“There’s... there’s someone who’s trying to find me,” said Styler. “And he’s not good news. He’s very dangerous and he will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. I... I hate to put anyone in danger, but... if he gets ahold of me... I don’t think I’ll be able to escape him again.”

“Who are you worried about?” Dark asked. “Who’s after you?”

Styler hesitated.

“It’s... he’s my brother,” he said. “Another of my creator’s egos. His... his name is Xyler...”


	48. The Demon Squad

Styler loved his family, even if it was just him and Xyler. He didn’t want to be alone, and he couldn’t just turn his back on family. Xyler needed him. Xyler would die without him.

But Xyler was also very unstable...

“He’s... different,” Styler said to Dark. “His aura cannot create energy on his own, so he is forced to feed off the energy of others. He draws it from their aura. If he goes too long without doing so, he will die...”

“Why is he looking for you?” Dark asked.

Styler hesitated, looking down at his hands that sat in his lap.

“He... we came into this world together,” he said. “I thought he was the only one other than me. The only family that I had. I stayed with him so that he could feed from me and stay alive. But... but he gets so angry, and he... he started to hurt me. I didn’t want to abandon him, but... I was scared. I tried to leave, and he chained me to a wall and kept me hostage. He fed from me until I’d pass out and he once nearly killed me. I was eventually able to get free, and I ran as far away as I could. I heard about this place, and I wanted to stay here for protection. But I’m afraid he might find me here.”

Dark gave Styler a sympathetic look. He knew well how hard it was to go against family. Damien had wanted to go against Celine a few times, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it.

“I don’t want him to die,” said Styler. “He’s my brother, and he’s family. Family is supposed to stick together, right? I mean... I’m sure he doesn’t mean to get angry. Or... maybe I just antagonize him somehow. Either way, I don’t know what to do about him...”

Dark stared at Styler and his eye twitched slightly. This was a way of thinking that he was going to shut down _real_ quick...

“Blank!” Marvin smiled. “Phantom! Natemare! So good to see you again.”

The three were standing in the foyer, Blank standing well away from them and flinching with every noise that came from somewhere in the house. His wide eyes watched people walk and run around, and he inched towards the door.

“Nope,” he said. “Don’t like this. Don’t like this at all...”

“I’m sorry, Blank,” Marvin said. “But this is kind of an emergency and I needed all hands on deck.”

“I know,” Blank said. “I don’t... I don’t know Jacques, but... I like to think you and I are friends. And friends help each other. We... we _are_ friends, right?”

Marvin smiled and pat Blank’s head in a friendly manner.

“Awe,” Phantom put a hand to his chest. “He’s baby...”

Blank gave Phantom a look and huffed.

“Just cuz I’m younger than you...” he started.

“We’re friends,” Marvin assured him. “Don’t worry. Listen, I know you don’t like crowds or loud noises, so I asked Roman if he would help me make you a little house out in the woods. You can go out there when you need some time away.”

Blank quickly looked back up at Marvin, eyes wide and looking touched.

“Really?” he said. “You did that for me?”

“Of course,” Marvin said. “In fact...” He looked around the noisy house, “why don’t we head there now? We might be able to think better out there.”

“Yes please,” Blank was already heading for the door. “Lead the way, Marv.”

Natemare and Phantom watched Blank and Marvin walk out the door.

“You should take him under your wing,” Natemare said to Phantom. “Imagine the things he could do if he had more self confidence.”

“Hmm...” Phantom smiled. “He is kind of endearing in a way... I’ll see what he says. For now, let’s just respect his boundaries and give him some space.”

“I’m sorry for being a bother, Marv,” Blank groaned as he followed Marvin down a gravel path. “I just... too many people, and loud noises...”

“It’s ok,” said Marvin. “I get it. And it’s no problem at all. I’m just glad you came. I really need as much help as I can get. I’m flying completely blind right now and have no idea what to do.”

“You said that you put Jacques to sleep,” said Blank. “But not why.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Natemare asked as he came up on Marvin’s other side.

“Some kind of artsy thing,” Marvin shook his head. “I was hoping maybe one of you guys would know what the hell he was talking about.”

“Sounds like a real puzzle,” Phantom said. “I love a good puzzle.”

“Yeah, well this one has way too many missing pieces,” Marvin sighed. “Oh. Here, Blank. This is your house.”

True to Marvin’s word, it looked like a tiny house. Not some cottage in a fairy garden, but a nice efficient tiny house. Marvin opened the door and Blank poked his head in. It was outfitted with good technology, he could tell. And while it wasn’t his apartment, it was still cozy. He really enjoyed the black out curtains hanging in front of the windows and the three extra locks on the door.

“I love it!” Blank set his laptop equipment on the little couch that was pushed against the wall. “It’s dark, it’s quiet, it’s reinforced...”

He knocked on the wall, nodding in satisfaction and grinning widely.

“Thank you,” Blank poked Marvin twice, a gesture he used to show appreciation.

“I’m glad you like it,” Marvin said. “Roman will be happy to hear that. Google provided all the tech. Said if anyone else tried to wire this place up, it would be done wrong. We’ll see if he was right.”

“Anyway,” Phantom was rolling up his sleeves, revealing the tattoos on his arms. “Let’s get to it. What happened, Marvin?”

“Ok,” Marvin sat on one of the chairs. “So... Jacques has this weird ability with his paints. Says he has dreams and then he paints them. If he doesn’t paint them, he gets sick and vomits paint.”

“Gross,” Natemare crinkled his nose.

“Recently, he had a sort of breakdown and kept going on about how he couldn’t paint anymore because a dog was gone, or something like that.”

“A dog?” Phantom looked confused. “Did he mean a pet?”

“I don’t think so,” Marvin shook his head. “he said the dog gave him the dreams and he can’t paint without it.”

“Hmm...” Blank was already tapping at his laptop. “Well, dogs do have a lot of symbolism in the arts. They were used to symbolize things like loyalty, protection, love, and faithfulness. For example, if you see a portrait of a couple and the woman has a dog at her feet or in her lap, it means that she’s faithful to her husband.”

“So... is Jacques married?” Natemare shrugged. “Maybe he can’t paint because his wife left him or something?”

“I don’t... well,” Marvin thought for a moment. “I never asked him, but he doesn’t wear a ring...”

He shook his head.

“We’ll come back to that later,” he said. “For now, let’s focus on the symptoms...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Blank: The cold and standoffish exterior he uses is more of a defense mechanism. He represents all of Ethan's anxiety and insecurity, so he keeps a wall up. But if you get to know him and he trusts you enough, he'll show you what he really is: a Soft Boi.


	49. The Terrible Discovery

_“Petit Chien... why have you forsaken me?”_

_Jacques was standing in a void. Nothing but darkness. No light, no color, no sound..._

_He was in hell._

_“What have I done to deserve such a fate?” Jacques asked the abyss. “Have I displeased you? Please forgive me. It... it hurts. It hurts so much. I can feel it... it will destroy me...”_

_He gave a dry sob._

_“I... I have the Sickness...”_

Dr. Iplier looked up as Jacques’s monitor began to beep loudly. Another spike in his vitals...

He glanced down at the sleeping ego and saw a tear slip out from under Jacques’s eyelid. What was he dreaming about? What was upsetting him?

Dr. Iplier took a tissue and gently wiped the tear away, sighing heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. I don’t want to keep you asleep, but Marvin said it’s for the best. I promise... we’ll figure out how to help you. You have so many people fighting for you. Don’t give up yet...”

Jacques gave a soft whimper and the monitor stopped beeping. He was calming down, that was good.

Dr. Iplier sighed again and walked over to read the printout of Jacques’s vitals. None of this was making sense. The read outs were unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He’d poured every medical book in the house and had even searched the internet, but nothing seemed to match Jacques’s symptoms...

This was well beyond his scope of knowledge, and to make things even more frightening... it was beyond The Host too.

_“The... The Host cannot see what is wrong,” Host said._

_“You mean nothing’s wrong?” Dr. Iplier asked._

_“No... The Host means... that he cannot see anything that has happened... this is beyond his sight..." Host said._

“Dr. Iplier!”

Speak of the blind devil...

“Host,” Dr. Iplier greeted him as Host entered the infirmary. “Any luck?”

“It’s... it is worse th-than the Host thought...” Host seemed to be bordering on hysterics, and Dr. Iplier quickly dropped the read out and helped Host sit down. The ego was shaking and breathing very unevenly.

“Host, you’re going to send yourself into a fit,” Dr. Iplier grabbed a paper bag and put Host’s hands around it. “Breathe into the bag. Six to eight breaths into the bag, and then remove it."

Host did just that, and it did seem to calm him down, but he was still shaking and upset over something.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Dr. Iplier pulled his rolling stool over. “Are you hurt?”

“The Host wishes it were that simple,” Host said. “But it is far worse. The Host... The Host cannot see!”

Dr. Iplier blinked a few times at Host’s words.

“I’m going to avoid pointing out something very painfully obvious... and ask you to elaborate instead,” he said. “What do you mean you can’t 'see'?”

“The... The Host’s visions...” Host said. “The visions... that allow The Host to see others and know what he needs to about them... they... they will not come when he calls! The Host can only see as a regular man can see. A-and... even w-worse... THE HOST’S POWERS ARE NO LONGER WORKING!”

 _“What!?”_ Dr. Iplier would never admit just how high pitched his shriek was. “What do you mean? You can’t be serious! Um... here.” he grabbed a nearby pen. “Say that this pen will float into the air.”

“Th... the pen that Dr. Iplier is holding w-will float into the air,” Host said.

The pen stayed right in Dr. Iplier’s hand. It didn’t so much as twitch. Dr. Iplier stared at it as if he were waiting for some kind of delayed effect, but the pen still didn’t move.

 _“See!?”_ Host began to cry, bloody tears slipping from beneath his bandages. “What use is The Host if his powers do not work? What if they never come back and The Host is doomed to be powerless forever?”

“Host, please try to calm down,” Dr. Iplier put his hands on Host’s shoulders. “Let’s think about this. When did this start happening?”

“A... a few days ago,” said Host. “The Host wanted to make sure it wasn’t just some sort of sickness. Sometimes a bad fever can subdue his powers for a small amount of time. But he’s tried everything. He's thought of everything! Every time he tries to use his powers, it’s as if... it’s as if The Host is just... beating against a wall. Nothing else seems to be the answer except that his powers are gone!”

“A few days ago?” Dr. Iplier repeated. His eyes suddenly widened and he slowly turned to look at Jacques lying in his bed.

Jacques had been brought to him a few days ago. That had been when he’d had his breakdown. Marvin had been stumped too, but... could the two incidents be related?

“Host did you see anything unusual before your powers stopped working?” Dr. Iplier asked. “I... I think Marvin mentioned something about a... a dog?”

“A dog?” Host seemed confused. “The Host does not know what Marvin the Magnificent could mean. The Host does not know anything about a dog...”

“Hmm...” Dr. Iplier began to pace. “What the hell is happening? Jacques had his breakdown and you lost your powers at the same time. It can’t be a coincidence, but how can so much happen without anything actually happening? No one else seems to be affected... unless... someone else is and I just don’t know. I’ll have to interview the other egos here, see if anything strange has happened to them in the past few days.”

His eyes then narrowed.

“We did get a new ego recently didn’t we? No one seems to know him, and he’s a fanon ego...” he said slowly. “Maybe his presence has something to do with it?”

“The Host doubts it,” said Host. “Styler is a fanon ego, but he does not seem the type to have any sort of powers that can produce such results. Nor does he have the proper temperament...”

“Still,” Dr. Iplier mused. “I’ll interview him too. Maybe it’s some kind of power that is always active no matter what...”

He shook his head and walked over to his desk.

“I’ll call Dark and see if he can’t call a meeting,” he said. “If I can talk to them all at once, it’ll make things so much easier, and then we can see if there’s anything else happening here. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of this.”

“I hope so too,” Host said miserably.

Dr. Iplier nearly dropped the phone as he looked over at Host in shock. Host gasped and pressed his hands over his mouth, screaming loudly behind them.


	50. The Strange Coincidence

“I’m stumped,” Marvin said as he flopped back onto the couch. “How does a dog fit into all of this?”

“Maybe it’s not symbolic?” Natemare asked. “We’ve gone through all the symbolism and nothing fits unless Jacques has a hidden wife somewhere. Maybe she’s hidden under the floorboards of his apartment.”

“I _highly_ doubt Jacques is capable of murder,” Marvin mused.

“Ha!” Natemare burst into laughter, startling Blank enough to make him flinch. “Shows what you know. You forget that once upon a time I was in the killing business. I have a certain knack at being able to tell just what level of violence someone is capable. Now, Jacques might not be up there with Dark or Wilford or the other unsavory sorts, but... he is pretty high up there. Who knows... maybe he’s filled a grave or two.”

“Natemare, stop,” Marvin said, giving the other a look.

Natemare was still grinning as he shrugged and held his hands up.

“Ok,” he said. “Just don’t be surprised if you ever catch him burying a body...”

“If the dog is not symbolic,” Phantom said loudly, again startling Blank. “Then what is it? Is the dog some sort of spirit or deity?”

“There are dogs in certain religions,” Blank said, eyes narrowed as he moved to sit next to Marvin and away from the loud demons. “I know Anubis right off the top of my head.”

“Dogs were sacred to Artemis and Ares,” Phantom mused. “And then there’s Cerberus.”

“I hate to crush your hopes,” said Natemare. “But you’re all describing _big_ dogs. Jacques specifically mentioned a _small_ one.”

Marvin opened his mouth to say something, but then there was a knock on the door. Blank hissed loudly, static flowing through the LED screens around him. Marvin put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down, but Blank still remained tensed up like an animal ready to strike.

Marvin got up and opened the door to find a panting and wheezing Shawn.

“I... I heard...” he coughed. “Jacques... mentioned... little dog...”

“Yeah,” Marvin raised an eyebrow. “Did you run all the way here?”

“Yep,” Shawn straightened out. “I just remembered... Dawktrap once mentioned a dog too. Said he saw it... when traveling through... different realities...”

“A dog in a different reality?” Marvin thought for a moment and shrugged. “Worth a try. We’re already stumped as it is. Do you know where Dawktrap is?”

“Should be in his room,” Shawn said. “He’s been in there for a while, apparently.”

“Guys, I’m gonna go check up on a lead,” Marvin ducked into the house and addressed the others. “Do any of you need something from the house?”

Phantom and Natemare said they didn’t, but Blank realized that Marvin was giving him a meaningful set of looks as he nodded his head at Phantom and Natemare. He was standing behind them, so they didn’t notice. Blank blinked... and then realized that Marvin was asking him if he’d be ok with being around the new people alone without bringing attention to his anxiety and embarrassing him.

Blank glanced at the others and then shook his head at Marvin.

“I’m fine,” he said.

This was his house. He wouldn’t be made to feel uncomfortable in it. He wanted to build up his tolerance, especially if he was going to be working with these people for a while...

“Then I’ll be right back,” said Marvin. “I need to go talk to Dawktrap.”

He shut the door behind him as he left. Natemare and Phantom glanced at each other and then smiled at Blank. Blank tensed slightly, but didn’t move. They weren’t showing any threats yet...

“So... tell us about yourself, Blank,” Phantom said as Natemare noisily sipped his tea. “We’ve never met a tech demon before...”

Blank briefly wondered if it was too late to run after Marvin.

Shawn led Marvin to Dawktrap’s bedroom. The door was covered in what looked like children’s drawings of colorful teddy bears, bunnies, and ducks, and Dawktrap’s name was written on the nameplate.

“Dawktrap?” Marvin knocked on the door.

After a minute, the door opened, revealing a... rather frazzled looking Dawktrap. His hair was a mess and instead of his usual dapper outfit, he was wearing jeans and a baggy hoodie that had a picture of a smiling man and the words ‘OH SUGAR!’ displayed on it.

“Whoa, you ok?” Marvin asked. “You don’t look good.”

“Sorry,” Dawktrap opened the door wider to let them in. “A lot’s happened in the last few days.”

Marvin and Shawn walked in, seeing that Dawktrap had his VR headset on his desk along with a few bottles of cleaning solution and a rag.

“What did you need, Marv?” Dawktrap sat at his desk, arranging his chair to face the other two as they sat on his bed.

“Um... Shawn told me that you once mentioned a dog when you were talking about other realities,” Marvin said. “I was wanting to ask about that.”

“The corgi?” Dawktrap asked. “Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, that one,” Shawn nodded.

Marvin tried to think of how big a corgi was, but could only think of the fluffy blanket that Jameson used. It had corgis on it, and they all looked relatively small...

“What was the corgi doing?” Marvin asked.

“Typing away at a laptop,” Dawktrap shrugged. “Not much else. It was wearing this adorable pair of glasses...”

A corgi typing at a laptop? Well, Marvin had certainly heard of stranger things. Could this be the same dog that Jacques was talking about? But what would a corgi and a laptop have to do with his paintings?

“What was the corgi typing?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Dawktrap shrugged again. “Every time I tried to get close enough to see, it would bark at me. Little thing had some fire to it. I’ve seen it a few times, and it’s always typing away at the laptop no matter how many times I see it.”

Marvin thought about it for a bit. This was their only lead, as strange as it sounded. They had hit a roadblock at every turn and they only had so many more books to go through before they’d gone through them all. At this point, Marvin was desperate.

“Could you show us the corgi?” Marvin asked.

Dawktrap blinked.

“Well...” he slowly glanced at his headset and then back at Marvin. “I’d love to, but... that’s part of the stuff that’s happened in the last few days. You see... my headset stopped working a few days. I was using it to try to find my follower cuz I hadn’t seen them in a while, and they’re usually so punctual with our meetings. But before I could find them again, my headset just suddenly stopped working.”

“Really?” Marvin stood up and looked at the headset. “Have you figured out what’s wrong with it?”

“Not a clue,” Dawktrap moaned. “I’ve had Google, Bing, and even Madpat look at it. They can’t find anything wrong with it, but Madpat suggested I give it a good deep cleaning, which is what I’m doing. But I’m worried. My headset has _never_ stopped working before... and I need to find my follower. I’m worried about them too...”

“Wasn’t it a few days ago that Jacques had his breakdown?” Shawn asked. “You think it’s weird that he was talking about a dog and then Dawktrap, who has seen a small dog, has his headset stop working?”

“Are you saying the incidents are connected?” Marvin asked.

“I’m saying it’s a funny coincidence,” said Shawn. “Or maybe I’m wrong. Mr. Drew always loved to drop foreshadowing and stuff like that in his Bendy cartoons, so maybe I’m biased. Still... I think it’s pretty weird.”

“I agree,” Dawktrap said. “I didn’t know Jacques’s breakdown was a few days ago. I’d only heard about it yesterday. You know how tightlipped Dr. Iplier is about his patients...”

 _All egos please report to the meeting room,_ a voice rang out on the overhead system. _Dr. Iplier would like to speak to us all._

“Speak of the devil,” Shawn mused. “Let’s get going, guys.”

Dawktrap picked up a brush and hastily ran it through his hair. He brushed some dust off his hoodie and then followed the other two out of his room.

The headset on his desk flickered slightly... and then fell dead again.


	51. The Unknown Attacker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for talks of breaking bones and other injuries

Perhaps Jameson shouldn’t have been out so late.

Perhaps he should have had someone accompany him.

Either way, he’d just made a quick dash to the post office to mail a few payments for their bills. Schneep, bless him, had forgotten to mail them out in his busy schedule, leaving the Septics at the mercy of express shipping to get them there on time.

Jameson was walking back home now. It wasn’t too far, and anyway he didn’t have a car or a license to drive it. Only Chase did, oddly enough, but he was busy filming something.

Still, it wasn’t _that_ late. The sun was still setting, painting the sky a beautiful orange and red. Jameson would be home in time for dinner-

Someone grabbed Jameson and pulled him into a nearby alley.

Jameson’s hand went right for the knife Anti had insisted he start carrying in his pocket. He quickly struck, and he managed a good hit, but then a hand was crushing his wrist and forcing him to drop the knife. The other hand was covering his mouth.

As if he could call for help anyway...

Jameson wheezed in pain, unable to do much else as he felt the bones in his wrist strain and then start breaking as his assailant’s grip got tighter. It was as if his wrist was caught in a machine...

But then he felt something much worse...

He felt as if something had stabbed itself into his aura, and that was far worse than any physical injury. It made Jameson want to vomit at the feeling of being so... violated. He kept struggling, but between his broken wrist, the iron hold around his chest and neck, and the assault on his aura, he couldn’t do much.

He felt tears form and fall from his eyes, nearly hyperventilating behind the attacker’s hand. A terrible chill flowed through him as he felt his strength begin to drain. He shook in the attacker’s hold, legs slowly failing until he was being completely held up by the other.

Nausea continued to roll through his stomach, and it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Dimly, he heard someone shout, but it sounded like he was hearing it from underwater. He was dropped to the ground and lay there, unable to move.

He was passing out, he could tell. As his vision went dark, he saw Anti fighting against someone who was very tall and very broad with muscle. The man had scars on his face and wore dark clothing.

Jameson briefly wondered who the man could be... before he finally fell unconscious.

Anti glanced back at Jameson, worry in his eyes. He needed to get him out of here. And he would... as soon as this asshole stopped trying to grab him.

 _“Bastard!”_ He yelled, slashing with his knife in quick succession, moving around in a flurry of pixels. He got a few good hits, but the ego barely seemed to notice them.

“Hold still!” The ego roared. “Make it easier for yourself!”

“Yeah, that looked really easy for my freaking brother you just dropped!” Anti threw his strings at his opponent ant wrapped as many as he could around the other’s wrist. The ego snapped them all like spider threads, but he was distracted enough for Anti to stab as hard as he could, feeling the knife plunge into the ego’s flesh. He then used his momentum to push against the ego, knocking him back. Anti glitched and reappeared next to Jameson. He quickly picked the gentleman up and vanished in a flash of green pixels.

**ELSEWHERE**

Marvin was getting ready for the meeting, walking with Dawktrap and Shawn. He suddenly had a very bad feeling that made him stop, standing still with a confused expression. Then he heard the crackle of static from the overhead speakers and a harsh voice rang out.

_**"̵̰̠̪̍̏̚M̴̫̭̤̱̙̳̬̝̲̒̓̾͑͜͠ͅA̷̲͙̦̟̻͚̿͠͝Ŗ̶̱̭̉̓V̷̨̲̞̜͌Į̸̛͕̭̘̰͚̲̤̫͒̋́̿̽͑͐̾̄̆̏͋͘̚ͅṄ̵̢̨͇̥̅̑͝!̸̛̦͕̹̼̭̱̦̮̋͆̿̄́̊̈́"̶̘̭͂̌͊̍̏͠** _

Marvin sent out a spell that showed him where Anti was, and he rushed down the stairs to the foyer. Shawn trailed after him, ready to help if needed.

Marvin gasped when he saw Anti kneeling on the floor with Jameson in his arms. Jameson looked pale and sickly, his wrist hanging at a bad angle.

“What happened?” Marvin was already casting spells to see the extent of the damage. Anti had a large bruise forming on the side of his face, but he didn’t care about it at all as he carefully laid Jameson down.

“He was attacked by an ego,” Anti said. “I don’t know who it was, I’ve never seen him before. But that asshole is still back there. What if he finds our house?”

Marvin’s eyes widened.

“I have a barrier put around it,” he said. “It should keep the ego out-”

“That bastard did something to JJ’s aura!” Anti snapped. “How long do you think your magic wall will last?”

“Damn,” Marvin thought for a moment. “We’d need to relocate them. Bring them back here until the danger is over. Are you sure this ego could find the house?”

“Are you willing to take that chance?” Anti asked.

Marvin was silent for a moment before he stood up.

“Shawn,” he turned to the other ego. “Can you please grab Madpat and teleport to our house? Bring everyone over here. Henrik is probably still at the hospital...”

“I’ll get him too,” Shawn assured Marvin. “Don’t worry. You focus on Jaime, ok?”

He turned and ran off as fast as he could, calling out Madpat’s name.

“Did you see what happened?” Marvin took Jameson’s injured wrist and began to heal it. His healing magic still wasn’t as good as it could be, but it would at least put the bones back in the right places for it to heal the rest of the way.

“I felt something,” said Anti. “It felt like someone had a stranglehold on my aura. And then I felt JJ calling out to me. No idea how, he’s never done that before... either way, I got there and some ego was holding him and breaking his wrist. I fought him off enough to get JJ out of there.”

Marvin cast a spell to reveal Jameson’s aura. The aura was very weak and faded, moving sluggishly, not like the bright black and white it usually was.

“The hell?” Marvin’s eyes narrowed. “It’s like... someone sucked all the energy out of it...”

Anti extended his own aura. Electric green tangled and merged with the faded grayish aura that Jameson now had. Anti could feel barely any life left in it, but it clung to his own desperately, pixels slotting into place.

“We need Patcher,” Anti said. “If we fuse, it will help JJ’s aura heal.”

“Whatever it takes,” Marvin shook his head. “I’ll need to inform Dark about this...”

**ELSEWHERE**

Henrik was doing his rounds and stopped into Devil Mark’s room. The ego was now at least able to hold his disguise in place, but Henrik didn’t trust anyone else to attend to him. He didn’t know if ego’s physiology was any different from anyone else’s, but he knew Devil Mark would benefit better from being helped by a fellow ego.

“How are you feeling today?” Henrik asked, looking at the ego’s chart.

“Better,” Devil Mark glanced at the tray that held his dirty dishes from dinner. “Food sucks, though...”

“Good to see you’re doing better,” Henrik did not waste any effort to object to Devil Mark’s statement. It was true. “Your wounds are looking better, but they are still on the way to healing. One of your bones was nearly crushed into dust and that stab wound nearly hit several important organs.”

“Yeah, that ego was pretty rough,” Devil Mark shook his head. “I barely managed to get away.”

“It’s good that you managed to get close enough in the parking lot for us to see you before you collapsed,” Henrik said, setting the chart aside.

“Doc!”

Henrik spun around as the door to the room flew open, revealing Shawn in the doorway.

“Doc, we gotta go,” Shawn strode inside, already preparing his pocket watch. “Jaime got attacked and whoever did it is still out there. Marvin's moving all of you back to the Iplier house for your safety. We got everyone there but you.”

 _“Was?”_ Henrik’s eyes widened. “I cannot-”

“You have to,” Shawn said, deadly serious. “Tell them whatever you need, but you are leaving with me tonight. You’re not safe here...”

Henrik was silent for a moment, and then he sighed.

“Fine,” he said, “But this ego is my patient, so he will come with me.”

“What?” Shawn glanced at Devil Mark. “Henrik, we can’t-”

“He is one of Mark’s egos, and he is my patient,” Henrik snapped. “I am not abandoning him. Help me sit him up. His injuries cannot be jostled too much...”

Devil Mark didn’t know what to think. No one had ever helped him like this before...


	52. The Devil in the Living Room

“No,” Dark’s word was very straightforward.

“I cannot just leave him,” Henrik glared. “He is my patient.”

“And he is also a major thorn in my side,” Dark growled. “He is _not_ staying here.”

Marvin couldn’t help but think this whole situation was somewhat familiar...

Devil Mark scoffed from where he was lying on the couch, towel under him to keep blood from leaking out of his bandages.

“Why am I not surprised?” He asked. “I told you he wouldn’t let me stay here. Not even when I’ve been attacked and almost killed.”

“Don’t be dramatic-” Dark began.

“He’s right,” Henrik crossed his arms. “For a long time, we thought he was not going to make it. It took him three days to wake up.”

“You say you were attacked,” Dark moved closer to the couch. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Devil Mark snapped. “He didn’t give me his name.”

“What did he do to you?” Dark raised an eyebrow.

“He latched onto my aura and drained it nearly to nothing,” said Devil Mark. “Look at it.”

He summoned his aura, but all that came up was a few glowing embers and a bit of black smoke. Marvin then gasped.

“Wait,” he said. “That’s what happened to Jameson! The same ego must have attacked him.”

“An ego that drains the auras of others...” Dark said. “I know who it is.”

“Xyler.”

The group looked over to see Styler standing to the side with a worried expression. He wasn’t in his usual clothes and he’d tied his long hair up into a manbun. Obviously, he was a bit stressed...

“My brother,” Styler walked over to the group. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he attacked your family. I swear he wasn’t always like this...”

“He wasn’t?” Marvin asked. Styler shook his head.

“He was just fine in the beginning,” he said. “He only took what he needed to survive. But as we began to travel around to look for a place to stay, he... he began to change. He’d get angry much faster than before and started taking more than what he needed. He was always wanting more and more. He’d never hurt me in the beginning, but then he started hitting me.”

“On top of being drained, Devil Mark was also stabbed with a knife,” said Henrik. “I assume your brother uses a weapon?”

Styler hesitated and then slowly shook his head.

“He doesn’t use weapons,” he said. “That wasn’t made with a knife...”

“What?” Henrik was confused. “The... how...?”

Styler pressed his lips into a tight line and then slowly raised his hand. He pressed his fingers together in a row and then made a moved his hand as if he were thrusting it into something. It took a moment, but then Henrik’s eyes slowly widened.

“You mean to tell me... he made that injury with his bare fingers?!” He said. “Impossible! The sheer amount of force that would have been needed to make an injury as deep as the one I was treating...”

“He is very strong in terms of brute strength,” said Styler. “I’m pretty strong too because of my creator, but Xyler is on whole other level. I’ve seen him punch through brick walls and concrete like wet paper...”

“Great,” Dark said. “So we have an angry powerhouse vampire out there...”

“What’s going on in here?” Wilford then decided to appear, walking into the room and looking around. “Someone told me Jameson was brought in looking very poorly. Is that chap ok?”

“He’s... being looked after,” Marvin said, glancing over to where Patcher was sitting perched on the back of the other couch.

“And who’s this?” Wilford asked, looking at Devil Mark.

“No one important,” Dark said. “He was just leaving.”

“Then I go with him,” Henrik said. “I have a duty to him.”

“Henrik-” Marvin tried to reason with him.

While the others argued, Wilford narrowed his eyes at Devil Mark. He could always tell when someone was like him in a way that meant that they knew about what was behind the curtain. Devil Mark had that gleam in his eyes. The gleam that meant he had seen such things.

“Can you see them?” He asked.

The others fell silent and looked at Wilford in confusion.

“See who?” Devil Mark asked.

“You know who,” Wilford said. “Can you see them? Because I haven’t been able to for a while...”

Devil Mark blinked.

And then he blinked again.

“What?” He said. “Are you serious? You haven’t removed that spell yet?”

“What spell?” Wilford growled.

“I put a spell up to block them out,” said Devil Mark. “I thought you would have removed it by now...”

Wilford stared at Devil Mark before his aura erupted in anger, bright pink electricity crackling through the air.

“You idiot!” Wilford roared. “You’re the cause of everything that’s been happening around here!”

“What do you mean, Wil?” Dark asked. “What did he do?”

“You blocked them out,” Wilford wasn’t done with Devil Mark yet. “You blocked _the corgi_ out!”

“Corgi?” Marvin’s eyes widened. “Wilford you know what the corgi is?”

“Of course I do,” Wilford said. “I’ve even spoken to them.”

“Hang on,” Devil Mark put his hands up. “I know nothing about a corgi. I only know about The Unfortunate. But I only blocked them out so that I could score a deal or two without them interfering. I figured you would quickly discover what had happened and then remove the spell.”

“What spell?” Wilford asked. “I didn’t know any spell was cast, and even if I did I would have no idea how to remove it!”

Devil Mark was confused. They had the same creator, didn’t they? They knew the same spells, right? Actor had known the same spells as Devil Mark, so he’d assumed all the egos knew the same spells. He assumed all the egos knew about the Unfortunate/The Audience. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that he’d run into the only ego who knew about them when he spent time with The Actor...

“You’re serious,” he finally said. “You are actually serious. You don’t know these spells.”

“No,” Wilford said. “That’s the whole point I’m making.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Ah,” Devil Mark said. “Well... now I feel bad.”

“Is anyone going to explain what the hell you’re talking about?” Dark asked. “And why would you think we all know the same spells?”

“Well, it’s not like any of you talk to me,” said Devil Mark. “Only The Actor gave me the time of day, and he knew all about them and he knew the same spells as me. So I just thought we all shared the same knowledge...”

“Dawktrap mentioned a corgi,” said Marvin. “And Jacques mentioned a little dog when he had his breakdown...”

“So Jacques knows about the corgi too,” Wilford mused. “If he’s blocked off, his breakdown makes sense.”

“Wilford!” Dark snapped. He took a deep breath. “Please... explain what you are talking about.”

Wilford stared at Dark for a moment... and then he sighed.

“Everyone sit down,” he said. “This is going to be a lot to explain...”


	53. The Corgi and the laptop

_Wilford rather enjoyed these walks. These trips behind the scenes. These promenades in the gaps between worlds. It was always something different, and everything he saw was interesting in some way._

_This walk was no different. He leisurely strolled between the worlds. One world had him married to Dark. One world had him working at a coffee shop. One world had him as a father with many children. They were nice to look at, but he knew that he could never join those worlds. He had his own, and he had to stay there._

_But then he saw a door. He’d never seen this door before._

_“This is new...” he approached the door and thought about opening it. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained...”_

_He opened the door and found himself in... a room._

_It was a rather plain looking room. Nothing really to make it memorable. But it had something in it: a corgi and a laptop._

_“Awe, how cute,” he approached the corgi, but the dog suddenly growled and barked at him._

_Wilford paused, watching the corgi puff out its fur and glare at him through its glasses. Why was it so angry? Was it because Wilford didn’t have any treats on him?_

_Wilford left the corgi alone that day, but he went looking for the door the next time he took a special walk. Again, the corgi barked and growled at him, and he left it alone._

_Eventually, the corgi got used to his presence and let him get closer until one day he was able to pet it without it barking at him._

_“What are you writing?” He asked, looking at the laptop screen. “Is it a novel? A play? A movie-”_

_He froze when he saw his own name on the laptop screen. He read the short passage and saw that the story was about him. Him and other egos._

_“Picking up Strays,” he read the title and stepped back. “Bloody hell...”_

_The corgi glanced at him and then went right back to typing._

_The next time he went on a walk, he stumbled upon a window next to the door. The window was large and a bit foggy, but he could see there were lots of people standing on the other side. People he couldn’t make out any features on, but he could hear their words, though muffled by the window._

_“Woo go blank!!!! But a house full of mark egos? Thats a lot of egos to have tk deal with if they are all on darks side.”_

_“OH MY GOODNESS!!! ROBBIE!!!! YESS!!!!!! IM SO EXCITED!!!! <3 <3 <3”_

_“Oooh I cant wait to see what happens now! Especially with a certain Warfstache involved!”_

_“i am in LOVE with this entire fic!! i may or may not have screamed as soon as i noticed that the "Actor" was actually Janus”_

_Were they talking about the story he saw the corgi typing? Were they able to see and hear Wilford and the others?_

_He tried a few experiments, talking to the corgi or to The Audience. He was able to establish that they could indeed see and hear everything and they could even talk to him. He kept it all a secret. No sense in shattering the fragile illusion of order and reality for the others. He was already mad, he could handle it. He doubted the others could..._

“And that’s what happened,” Wilford finished his explanation.

The whole room was silent.

“Um... _what?”_ Marvin asked. “Wait... this makes no sense. We’re not characters anymore, we’re... we’re real.”

“We are not our creator’s characters,” said Wilford. “But we are characters in someone else’s story. In this case, we are the characters in a story that is written by a corgi that loves bacon and having its ears pet. And it's sleep deprived and hopped up on sugar.”

“Is it really?” Devil Mark asked.

“Probably,” Wilford shrugged.

Dark... had heard and seen a lot of strange things in his life. He’d seen a lot of things over the years that normal people would have freaked out over, but to him it was just business as usual. Somehow... hearing that a corgi was responsible for the world he was living in... didn’t bother him. It was no different than believing in a deity that planned out your life and guided you through it. It was just that this deity was a little dog...

Certainly there were worse rulers out there...

“I am strangely ok with this,” he said out loud. “I mean... it hasn’t killed any of us.”

“Yet,” said Wilford. “But we must be careful. The corgi listens to The Audience. Reads every word they say and savors them slowly... and then unleashes heartbreak and angst the likes of which no one has ever seen upon the favorite characters.”

“Wait, so the corgi wrote out the whole thing with Unus and Annus?” Marvin asked. “Well... we did get a happy ending. And The Audience can’t be too bad, right? I mean, the way you described what they were saying, they seem to really like us.”

“I am so confused,” Henrik shook his head. “I should have left when Styler did...”

“Just don’t think about it too much,” Wilford pat Henrik’s shoulder. “You’ll hurt your brain if you’re not careful...”

“Patcher, what do you think?” Marvin asked.

Patcher shrugged his shoulders.

**As long as this world has things and people in it that are good... I really don’t care who runs it.**

“Getting back on topic,” Dark said. “You’re saying that because Devil Mark blocked The Audience and the dog off from us, it’s been affecting the others? It caused Jacques’s breakdown and The Host to lose his powers?”

“Indeed,” said Wilford.

“Well... Devil Mark, if you could please remove the spell,” Dark glared at the other ego. “I’m sure that would solve a lot of our problems.”

“Yeah...” Devil Mark said slowly. “About that...”

“What’s wrong?” Dark narrowed his eyes.

“That particular spell requires a lot of magic to remove,” said Devil Mark. “And after Xyler’s attack, I don’t have enough energy to do it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Dark stood up, red and blue outlines splitting and flickering in anger.

“Dark!” Marvin snapped at the other. “Devil Mark, how do we help you recover so that you can remove the spell?”

“That’s the thing...” said Devil Mark. “My power and my life are fueled by the souls that I collect. I have to make deals and then collect on them to gain power and strength.”

“So you’d have to make a deal with someone in order to get enough power to remove the spell?” Marvin asked.

“You are not making a deal with anyone here!” Dark said. “I don’t care how weak you are...”

“Oh, Dark...” Devil Mark shook his head. “Bold of you to assume I didn’t already make a deal with one of your residents a long time ago....”


	54. The Unseen

“I still cannot believe how well you’re all taking this,” Wilford mused. “I kept it all a secret because I thought you wouldn’t take it well at all...”

“Wil...” Dark gave him a look. “I am a dead body that is housing an ancient entity and two human souls. You are a colonel who lost his mind and can warp reality. Marvin is a wizard, Henrik has healing powers, Patcher is a fusion between a gentleman from the early 1900’s and a glitch demon. We met the gods of time and death, we watched them die in front of millions of their followers. Madpat died and then came back to life.”

He paused.

“At this point, learning that this reality is the result of a corgi and a laptop isn’t all that shocking. Things are strange all around and nothing really makes sense here, so... why not?” Dark shook his head. “And I really don’t care who’s running the show. Whether it’s Mark or a corgi. And to be honest, I’m liking this world better than the one we had with Mark. At least we’re happy in this one...”

“He has a point,” Marvin said.

“And being watched by an audience?” Wilford asked.

“No different than before when we were characters on a youtube channel,” said Dark. “As long as I don’t have to see them, and as long as they give us some privacy when needed. So you make sure to tell them to turn away when that happens...”

“I will do so,” Wilford gave a small salute.

“I agree with Dark,” said Henrik. “This world is a good one. If the catch is that it has to be created by a dog, then so be it. I don’t care either way.”

“I guess when you break it down like that it’s not all that big a revelation,” Wilford mused. “Nor does it really change anything. Life goes on just like it always has...”

“Still,” said Dark. “We should keep this between us for now.”

“Interesting...”

Dark flinched and looked around to see Paranormal leaning against the doorway with his fingers steepled and a contemplative look on his face.

“Here I thought water was the bringer of life,” he said, walking forward. “Only to discover, it’s actually a dog... though perhaps things are not always on the same level. Yes... water is on a different level...”

“Hello, Pie,” Wilford said. “Were you listening to us?”

“I’m always listening where my ears are needed,” Paranormal said. “And they were needed here. I heard every word. You are talking about... The Unseen, correct?”

“The Unseen?” Dark asked.

“The Unseen,” Paranormal carefully picked up a large nearby vase. “But I can see them. With the proper window, of course...”

He tossed the water from the vase into the air, and it hung there, moving sluggishly. Paranormal set the vase aside and began to manipulate the water until ti formed a thin sheet. The water began to shake and rippled, eventually clearing to reveal... something that looked very damaged.

“Oh wow,” Wilford stepped closer. “They knew they were blocked off. They’ve been trying to break free this whole time.”

“Is this normal?” Dark asked, leaning forward to examine what could only be described as some kind of wall.

“Never underestimate The Audience,” Wilford said. “They can’t break free while the spell is still in place...”

“And I told you that I need a deal for that,” Devil Mark yawned. He'd been about to doze off. The pain meds made him rather sleepy...

“I am not letting you steal the soul of whomever was gullible enough to make a deal with you,” said Dark. “So you can forget it.”

“Who even was it?” Marvin asked.

“Um...” Dark pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He then pulled out a pair of glasses and slid them on before examining the paper. “Someone named... Derek Derekson.”

“Dude, check it out!” Bing’s eyes literally lit up when he spotted the other android. “A S34N model android!”

S34N was busy sitting with Robbie while the zombie watched Gravity Falls on the television. He turned his head to smile at Bing.

“Hello,” he greeted. “You are a Bing android, correct?”

“Sah Dude!” Bing walked over. “Yeah, that’s me. Oh this is great. Google loves to walk around like he’s the top dog when it comes to androids, but compared to you... he’s practically outdated. Oh man, I can’t wait until he realizes you’re here. Oh... but you might wanna keep an eye out. If he _does_ find out he might try to destroy you.”

“Destroy me?” S34N repeated.

“He’s kinda the jealous type,” Bing said. “Can’t stand it when someone’s better than him at something. And you’re a walking technological marvel. You can bet his eyes are gonna go green with envy and then red with rage... if he doesn’t send those colors after you. He kinda went through an upgrade and now there’s four of him...”

“Technological osmosis,” S34N said. “Yes, I’ve heard of that. I didn’t know the Google android was capable of it.”

“Not to toot my own horn, but I can do it too,” said Bing. “Or... I _was_ able to... until Google crushed poor Mini Bing...”

“That’s terrible,” S34N said. “Come sit with us. My database tells me that those who go through tragedy would benefit from positive interaction. Robbie is enjoying this cartoon, perhaps you will too. And company is always nice...”

“Wow, really?” Bing beamed. He moved over and sat down next to S34N. “This so cool! You’re cool! You’re breathtaking!”

“No,” S34N smiled. _“You’re_ breathtaking...”

Bing was not crying. He was not! His optics were just leaking fluid is all...

“Does anyone know what’s going on?” Roman asked. “Dr. Iplier interviewed us all, but he didn’t really say why.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was for a good reason,” Patton said. “Let’s not worry. Worrying will cause you wrinkles...”

“Oh god!” Roman’s hands went to his face. “Do I have wrinkles? Can you see them?”

“Someone’s here,” Janus said, walking up to the small group. “Another ego.”

“Who is it?” Patton asked while Roman freaked out in front of the mirror on the wall.

“Someone with horns,” Janus shrugged. “I didn’t stick around to really listen, but it looked like they were deep in conversation about something important...”

He failed to see Derek flinch and pale, eyes wide. Derek grabbed Eric’s hand and began to pull him down the hallway. Roman saw them in the mirror’s reflection and narrowed his eyes.

“Dad, what are we doing?” Eric struggled to keep up.

“Shut up!” Derek snapped. “We need to leave. Now.”

“But why?” Eric frowned and pulled his hand away. “I don’t want to leave. I like it here.”

**SMACK!**

Eric cried out and fell to the floor, holding his cheek where Derek had struck him.

“I don’t care what you want,” Derek snarled. “We are leaving, and that’s that. Now get up-”

He was suddenly silenced when dark green tentacles wrapped around him and lifted him into the air. Eric gasped when he saw Remus standing down the hallway with a look of pure murder in his glowing green eyes.

“And here I promised Patton I wouldn’t kill anyone,” Remus said. “I guess I’m gonna have to break that promise...”


	55. The Sins of the father

Roman knew what he was doing when he informed Remus of Derek dragging Eric off.

He knew what Remus would do when he found them. And you know what? He didn’t feel guilty about it. He could appreciate Patton’s usual spiel about giving people a chance, but some people were just scum.

Derek Derekson was one of those people.

Roman didn’t like him at all. Derek was everything he strove not to be. Narcissistic, controlling, cruel, greedy, and more. Roman usually steered clear of him, and Derek certainly never tried to seek him out either.

He had first thought it strange that Remus had adopted Eric as his own. Remus was no father, but he was loyal to a fault. Like a dog, if you earned his loyalty, you had it until the day you died. Unless you did something to lose it.

So when Remus decided that he was going to protect Eric, Eric had earned a guardian for life.

Roman calmly walked down the hallway, not in any real hurry. If anything happened, then so be it. He was doing the right thing, after all. No one could blame him for that. Just like how no one could blame him for taking his sweet time while doing the right thing...

“Excuse me,” he announced to the room.

Dark and the others looked over at him.

“It is my moral obligation to inform you that Remus is about to murder Derek Derekson,” Roman said. “So if you wish to stop him, you’ll need to hurry...”

Dark sighed, sounding completely done with everything.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll handle this...”

Dark disappeared into the shadows and then reappeared where he could sense Derek was. The first thing he saw was a very murderous Remus with Derek wrapped in a group of dark green tentacles.

“Remus,” Dark sighed. “Put him down.”

“No,” Remus folded his arms. “Bastard hit Eric. He’s not leaving this hall with all his limbs intact...”

“We need him in one piece,” said Dark. “Apparently, he sold his soul to Devil Mark, and it’s time for it to be collected. I know I promised Mark that I would take care of any egos who came to live in this house, but... I think Derek is an exception to that rule.”

“He’s gonna lose his soul?” Remus thought for a moment. “Hmm... but I really wanna rip his arms off...”

“Wait!” Eric rushed forward. “Wait, you can’t... please don’t kill him.”

“What?” Remus turned to look at Eric.

Eric was standing in front of his father, hands nervously wringing the yellow handkerchief that he carried. He stood tall on the new prosthetics that Remus had commissioned Google to build. He'd had to give up a some very valuable dragon scales in return, but to him it had been worth it.

“Eric?” Dark looked confused. “Why would you want to save Derek? He’s treated you horribly since the moment you both came here...”

“I... I just...” Eric whimpered. “He’s my father... and he’s... he’s the only family I have left...”

Remus blinked.

“Give us a minute,” he said to Dark. He then conjured a wall that surrounded him and Eric, blocking them from being seen or heard.

“Ah! What’s this?” Eric looked around.

“Relax, just giving us some privacy,” said Remus. “Do you _really_ want them to spare Derek? He's an asshole. He hits you!”

“He’s my dad,” Eric looked away. “He’s just... it’s just discipline...”

Remus blinked in shock. Discipline? What crap has Derek been feeding him? Did Derek really manage to convince Eric that it was perfectly normal to treat your child like he did? Remus’s blood began to boil with anger, but he kept calm for Eric’s sake.

“Eric, Patton is a dad too,” said Remus. “Do we misbehave? Yes. Do we annoy him sometimes? Sure. Does he insult us? No. Does he hurt us? _Hell no._ He may put us in time out or make us wear the Get Along Shirt, but he would never hurt us. I know Derek’s your father, but that doesn’t mean anything. Just because he spawned you does not mean you owe him a damn thing.”

“B-But...” Eric sniffled. “I just don’t want to be alone. He’s... He's all I have left.”

“Eric...” Remus sighed. “Family isn’t just blood. You have me. You have Patton. You have so many others who love you and care about you. You don’t have to keep hanging on to Derek.”

“R-Really?” Eric asked. “But... but if I let you guys kill him... wouldn’t that make me as bad as him because I let him get hurt?”

Ooh... this was not Remus’s expertise. This was something more for Janus. What would Janus say?

“You can’t... if there’s one thing that Jannie taught me,” Remus said. “it’s that the concepts of good and evil are nigh impossible to define. The world is not black and white, it’s a whole spectrum of colors. You have to examine everything so carefully, otherwise you’ll draw the wrong conclusion. In this case, if you let them take Derek, it won’t be because you’re bad. You didn’t do anything wrong. Derek dug his own grave and now he has to get buried in it.”

Eric was silent for a moment as he fidgeted with his handkerchief. He looked so torn, so guilty. But why was he feeling guilty?

“Eric...” Remus said slowly. “Do you feel bad because you want them to take Derek?”

Eric gasped, his eyes going wide as he looked at Remus. He sniffled and tears welled up in his eyes as he nodded his head.

“I just... I want him gone,” He said. “I don’t want him to hurt me anymore...”

Remus took a deep breath, feeling his anger grow again.

“I will support any decision you make,” he said. “But if you make one, I want you to make it because you _want it._ Not because it’s what you think is right. And if you don’t want to say anything to the others, you don’t have to. Whisper it in my ear and then I’ll whisper it in Dark’s ear and that will be it. We’ll head over to the kitchen and eat some of that cake Chefiplier made the other night. Ok?”

Eric was once again silent, eyes roving around as if in deep thought. He finally took a deep breath and then nodded. Remus leaned down a little for Eric to speak to him, and Eric whispered his decision.

The wall came down and everyone was pretty much where Remus left them. Remus didn’t spare Derek a glance as banished the tentacles and then marched over to Dark and gestured for him to lean close. Remus whispered into Dark’s ear and then promptly turned around and led Eric away. Eric leaned against Remus as the other slid an arm around his shoulders.

“Well,” Dark walked closer to Derek. “The decision has been made.”

He grabbed Derek and pulled him to his feet with a grin.

“Would you like to speak to Father Ethan before you die...?”


	56. The Wall Comes Crumbling Down

Dawktrap had gone back to his room after the meeting. He carefully rubbed the cleaning solution over his headset, still feeling down about it not working. Jumping through realities was his whole thing. It was a core part of him. Ever since Lewis had made his debut song. Without his headset working, he felt... incomplete.

Not to mention, he was still worried about his follower. They hadn’t shown up for a while, and he was worried that something might have happened to them...

Dawktrap crossed his fingers and tried to start up his headset....

Nothing. Still not working.

Dawktrap sighed in frustration and slammed his fist on his desk. His aura rubbed at his shoulder as if trying to comfort him, and Dawktrap ran his hands through his hair. What now? He'd tried everything. He’d consulted with everyone who might know something about electronics, but they had all been stumped.

Dawktrap stood up and flopped onto his bed. All he could at this point is wait and hope...

Father Ethan always kept an open mind and tried to not judge anyone else in the house. Granted, it was a bit difficult since murder seemed to almost be a requirement to be an Iplier ego, and his own brothers had their sins as well (he had stopped trying to convince Mike to give up his side business).

But keeping an open mind was very hard in this particular case.

Derek had asked to speak to him, and Dark had explained everything. It took every bit of Father Ethan’s willpower to not just look at Derek and say ‘You’re screwed’. Indeed, Derek had pretty much doomed his soul to eternity in misery and torture. And Father Ethan was almost certain he had not sold it for a noble cause...

Still, Father Ethan had a duty. He listened to Derek’s sobbing pleas and then calmly explained that there wasn’t much that he could do. He said a prayer for Derek and then politely excused himself, eager to get away from the man. Derek’s presence made his skin crawl and feel filthy...

Devil Mark was smirking when Derek was finally dragged before him. Derek pleaded, he cursed, he struggled, but Dark’s aura kept him from running off, latching on to his ankle and yanking his feet out from under him.

“Hi,” Devil Mark said. “Remember me?”

“You can’t kill me!” Derek snapped. “I just realized... you... you didn’t give me what I sold my soul for...”

“You sold your soul to me... for fame,” said Devil Mark. He held out his hand and a contract appeared in a rush of flames. “That’s what it says, right?”

“You didn’t make me famous,” Derek said. “You can’t take my soul.”

“Oh, but you _did_ become famous,” Devil Mark said. “Those Christmas commercials you did made you famous.”

“What?” Derek said. “Those commercials _barely_ made me famous.”

“Well...” Devil Mark shrugged. “Maybe you should have been more specific in your wording...”

Marvin narrowed his eyes. He knew deal makers loved to use the fine print to find and exploit loopholes in the agreement. Normally he would be angry, but in this case... Derek was just getting what he deserved. Selling his soul for fame? What an idiot...

“You knew what you were doing,” Devil Mark said. “I explained it all very clearly with you. And you _still_ signed your soul away. Now I’ve come to collect...”

He slowly managed to stand up, still slightly hunched in pain. Taking a deep breath, he summoned what bit of his aura he could, the weak flame flickering.

“If anyone has anything they’d like to say,” Devil Mark held the contract over the flame, “say it now.”

Silence. No one said a word.

Derek tried to say something, but Dark’s aura silenced him. Dark himself looked ready to be rid of Derek, and he very much was.

“So be it,” Devil Mark shrugged. “Let’s get this over with...”

He dropped the contract into the flame of his aura, and it immediately began to burn. Derek screamed as a portal opened beneath him and several flaming hands began to pull him down. Dark quickly withdrew his aura, narrowly escaping getting burned.

Devil Mark’s aura grew until it was a very bright and very hot inferno. Derek’s soul had been stuffed with so much sin that it all but gave Devil Mark the energy of two. He took a deep breath as he felt power rush through his veins, healing his injuries and leaving him feeling much better than he had in a while.

Still, even with a major boost, Devil Mark was going to need it all to remove this spell. Patching a wall was one thing, breaking it was another. He gathered his magic and took a deep breath before unleashing it. His aura burned brightly as the world around them began to rumble and shake... and then it suddenly stopped.

Devil Mark’s aura shrunk back to the weak flame it had been before, and he swayed dizzily on his feet.

“It’s done,” he said. “It’s done...”

He collapsed to the floor and passed out.

Wilford turned around and smiled when he could see the broken wall once again. On the other side, he could see The Audience. They were all holding various tools and weapons ranging from explosives to a jackhammer to a baseball bat to... was that a golf club?

 **“Lovely to see you all again,”** he said. **“I hope you behaved yourselves while I was gone...”**

In the infirmary, Jacques finally woke up. He sat up slowly, confused as to what he was feeling. He could feel... a presence. His muse!

 _“Petit Chien,”_ he said softly. “You’ve come back to me...”

Dawktrap heard an electronic chirp and he paused the video he’d been watching (Dawko’s Latest video). He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but... he had to look. He rolled over and saw his headset was now glowing. The screen was finally showing something...

Dawktrap fell out of his bed as he scrambled over to his desk. He shoved the headset on as quickly as he could and began his search.

“Where are you...” he mumbled. “Where are you... oh!”

He smiled, feeling relieved.

 **“There you are,”** he said. **“Where have you been? You had me worried...”**

Jackie was making himself a sandwich in the kitchen when he suddenly felt as if he were being watched. He slowly turned around and flinched, seeing the shadow people he saw before.

“Oh no,” he said. “I’m seeing them again. This is bad...”


	57. The Ghost Writer

They had told him to speak to Wilford. Jackie could only hope that Wilford would be able to shine some light on things. It was still creepy that they hadn’t gone away yet. They were still there, watching him and speaking to him.

He tried to put it out of his mind as he looked for Wilford.

Some of the egos were confused, some spreading rumors about Derek. Some were acting as if nothing strange had happened at all. And some were just milling around.

“Hey Remus? Jackie asked as he entered one of the common rooms. “Have you seen Wilford?”

“Wilford?” Remus was sitting on the couch with Eric and watching television while eating cake. “Um... he just came through here not long ago. I think he was going to go visit Jacques...”

“Oh,” Jackie said. “Thanks.”

He couldn’t help but notice the genuine smile that Eric was sporting.

He headed for the infirmary and was happy to see Wilford waiting right outside.

“Wilford!” he called. “Hey, I need to talk to you...”

“Jackie?” Wilford turned around, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Jackie hesitated. They had told him to speak to Wilford, and he did trust the man. Wilford, for all his eccentricities always seemed like he knew something the others didn’t. And the ‘wise eccentric’ trope was very common in comics these days...

“Um... I was told to talk to you about something,” he said slowly. “About... about these... shadows I’ve been seeing...”

“Shadows?” Wilford asked.

“They look like people,” said Jackie. “I... I thought they were some kind of trick or hallucination, but I’ve started seeing them again and they told me to talk to you...”

Wilford blinked. He slowly glanced to the side and gave a questioning look.

“Wait...” Jackie’s eyes widened. “Can... can you see them too?”

“Yes,” Wilford looked at him again. “You’re not crazy. It’s not a trick. It’s just... something that a lot of people here are not aware of. Very few of us know can see them and even fewer know the whole truth.”

“The truth?” Jackie asked. “What truth?”

Wilford was silent as he weighed his options. Jackie already had a toe in the water, why not help him stick his whole foot in? But at the same time, could Jackie handle it? If he already could see them, could he handle knowing about the truth that lay beneath?

Wilford glanced at the infirmary door. He wanted to visit Jacques, but knowing Dr. Iplier, Jacques was going to be put on bedrest. He could visit later...

“Come with me,” Wilford put his arm around Jackie’s shoulders. “I’ll explain everything...”

Inside the infirmary, Jacques was awake and speaking to Marvin.

“We found out what your little dog is,” said Marvin. “But it stumped us for a while...”

“Yes, the little dog can be quite the enigma,” said Jacques. “But... most muses are. I do not know where it came from or why it chose me... but it doesn’t matter. The dog gives me dreams and then I create wonderful art. That is all I need to know.”

“Wait...” Marvin looked confused. “That’s all you know?”

 _“Oui,”_ Jacques said. “One does not question a muse. One does not dissect it like a corpse. One only appreciates it and listens to it. And that is good enough for me...”

Marvin stared. So Jacques didn’t know the truth? Well, Marvin couldn’t blame him, he hadn’t known either. How funny that Wilford knew so much with so little effort... But Paranormal had been able to see them, and Devil Mark had known about them, but they had called them by different names. Did people know about them, but not the context? How much had been lost in translation? How far did this go?

Marvin shook his head. He'd worry about it later...

“How is my friend?” Jacques asked. “Author. How is he?”

“Author!” Marvin’s eyes widened. “Oh... with everything going on, I haven’t seen him. So much happened after I put you to sleep. Everything went crazy!”

“You did not check on my friend?” Jacques asked. He lifted his blankets and tried to get out of the bed. “Marvin, help me. I need to see him.”

“Jacques, you need to rest,” Dr. Iplier said. “You’re not yet recovered.”

“I have slept enough,” Jacques snapped. “Marvin, take me to him. I will come back after I have made sure that he is ok...”

Marvin sighed and got up to help Jacques. Dr. Iplier rolled his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly. Why did he have to have such stubborn patients?

Marvin helped Jacques walk down the hallway towards Author’s room. Marvin assumed that Author would be there, no one had really seen him, and Marvin hadn’t seen him anywhere else either. Perhaps it had been a mistake to not check on him, but Marvin had been busy with everything else. Still, he felt guilty for not doing so...

“Author!” He called out, knocking on Author’s door. “Are you in there?”

He heard a rustle from inside.

“Just... just a second!” Author called from within.

There was a crash and Jacques opened the door out of worry.

“Are you ok?” he asked. “I heard a cr-”

Jacques and Marvin stared at the sight that greeted them.

Author was wide eyed and clutching a stack of papers. Papers that were filled with writing. The desk had even more stacked on top, and several pencils sitting nearby. Marvin slowly walked forward and saw that Author had knocked over his chair and dropped a few papers. Marvin picked one up and looked at the writing.

_“At this point, learning that this reality is the result of a corgi and a laptop isn’t all that shocking. Things are strange all around and nothing really makes sense here, so... why not?” Dark shook his head. “And I really don’t care who’s running the show. Whether it’s Mark or a corgi. And to be honest, I’m liking this world better than the one we had with Mark. At least we’re happy in this one...”_

_“He has a point,” Marvin said._

_“And being watched by an audience?” Wilford asked._

_“No different than before when we were characters on a youtube channel,” said Dark. “As long as I don’t have to see them, and as long as they give us some privacy when needed. So you make sure to tell them to turn away when that happens...”_

_“I will do so,” Wilford gave a small salute_.

Marvin gasped. This... this was what had happened recently. And it was all handwritten.

“I can explain!” Author suddenly said. “I swear... I can explain...”


	58. The Author's Confession

“Start talking,” said Marvin. “You’ve had your powers back and you didn’t tell us?!”

“No!” Author protested. “Nononononononono! I do _not_ have my powers back. Look, I wrote this, but I didn’t _write_ this.”

Marvin blinked. That... somehow made sense...

Author sighed and sat down in the chair, looking very tired.

“Logan wrote this for me,” he explained. “I was going to ask Host to help, but... he seemed a little distraught over what had happened.”

“Why were you writing this?” Marvin asked. “And how did you know all of this had happened?”

“I... look, I didn’t have much of a choice,” said Author. “You don’t remember this, but... about a week ago, someone blocked out the corgi. I’m sure Wilford told you because I remember writing it. You know that the corgi is the one who is controlling everything. They write the story. Well, when the wall went up, the corgi was cut off and could no longer write the story. I only found this out because... the day started looping. It would be the same day over and over again. The story couldn’t progress because the corgi was blocked off.”

“Really?” Jacques’s eyes widened. “That sounds horrible.”

“It was,” Author said. “It took me a while until I figured out what the problem was and how to fix it.”

“How were you able to?” Marvin asked.

“I’m an author,” said Author. “And authors have power over stories.”

He had asked (blackmailed) Logan into helping him. He couldn’t trust anyone else to write down what he was saying and to use proper spelling and grammar. Typing on a laptop was out of the question. Between tech demons and shared laptops, he couldn’t trust the story to be safe. He needed to keep the writing safe so that he could keep track of everything...

“So you’ve just been writing everything this whole time?” Marvin asked. “You took control of the story and you kept it going?”

“Yes,” said Author. “I am not powerful enough to overthrow the corgi. I learned that lesson the hard way. But because the corgi was blocked off, there was no one to stop me from taking control again. That’s why you haven’t seen or heard from me in a while. I was in here with Logan making sure everything was written out. It was exhausting and a _major_ drain on my powers...”

“Wait... so you’ve been responsible for everything for the past... how long?” Marvin asked.

“I’m not sure how long... the dates are so fuzzy because I had to find a place to start the story back up,” Author shook his head. “And I’ve had to keep everything in order and paced to keep the story flowing as well as it has been. But... I think I sped it up too much. I was just so worried and I wanted the corgi back so I sped things up as fast as I could. You didn’t think it was weird to have so many convenient coincidences? Devil Mark was sent to the one hospital that Henrik works at? He already had a soul waiting for him to collect here?”

Author knew how to write a story, and he knew it well. But his writing style was very different from the corgi’s, and if you took a story and changed the style too drastically, you could end up messing things up. At the same time, it was like building a house. If you skipped too many details or events, it would all collapse before it could be completed.

Author had tried to mimic the corgi’s style, but it was difficult. Corgi didn’t put too much thought into what they were writing and nearly half the connections and parallels and symbolism were purely accidental. But, they somehow made the story work well enough to garner an amazing audience, so... they must be doing something right.

So Author tried to mimic that. He tried to mimic thinking about the story for major events and then sitting down and unleashing a chapter all in one go. He thought he did well enough, but he wasn’t sure...

“Wait... you were the one who made Jameson get attacked?!” Marvin angrily asked.

“I didn’t... kill him?” Author tried to weakly protest. “I’m sorry! I needed a reason for you to call Henrik here so that Henrik could bring Devil Mark in. So... I thought if I had Xyler attack Jameson it would work... and it did! Xyler was already there because Corgi put him there, so I just moved him around a little...”

“How much was already written by the time you took over?” Jacques asked.

“Um... the day of your breakdown was the very last bit that was written,” said Author. “I took over from there.”

“And Devil Mark having a soul here to collect?” Marvin asked. “That was you too?”

“I... he needed a soul to regain enough strength to bring down the barrier!” Author said. “I just... chose the one ego that no one seems to really like. Derek was an asshole! Do you really think he’s going to be missed?”

“You didn’t have the right-”

“Marvin, stop,” Jacques interrupted him. “Obviously, this is a complicated situation and no matter what, we will never know the depth of it. Author did what he could, and he succeeded. Things are back in order and now we can continue on just like we did before.”

“What about Xyler?” Marvin asked. “He’s still out there.”

“I am sure he will be dealt with somehow,” Jacques said. “Listen, my little dog has never steered me wrong before, and if they are the one who is in charge of things, then we are in good hands... um... paws. I know it all seems new to you, but trust us. We know more about this than you do...”

“Wait... speaking of knowing less... how did Logan take all of this?” Marvin asked.

“Um, well... I’m not sure,” Author said. “I had a separate narrative going to keep him calm and to make sure he didn’t freak out. I made him forget each word he wrote so he has no idea that he’s been helping me and he no longer knows about The Audience or the corgi.”

“Probably for the best,” Jacques said. “I have a feeling that Marvin and the others were only so calm about it because you wrote them to be.”

“Yeah...” Author shifted. “That’s true. I needed them to know about what was going on, but I didn’t want them freaking out.”

Marvin sighed. This whole thing was confusing, but... he supposed there were bigger things to worry about, and everything did seem to be calming down and going back to normal. Maybe Author had hurt his family, but they were healing and they’d be fine.

The knowledge he’d learned still sat heavy in his mind, but it was like it was floating around in the water. Marvin knew about it, but it didn’t hurt or burden him as much as he thought it would. He was still ok with things, but now he wasn’t sure if that was him or the corgi’s doing.

"Everything's back in order," Author sighed. "I'm done. I can rest now..."

He hit the floor as he finally collapsed.


	59. The Author and The Audience

“What is it _this_ time?” Dr. Iplier asked as Author was carried in.

Jacques and Marvin carefully laid Author down in one of the beds and Jacques got to work at removing Author’s boots.

“I think he’s just exhausted,” said Marvin. “He’s... been working pretty hard lately.”

“Poor thing,” Dr. Iplier tsked. “What is it about writers and their self destructive habits? Well, I’ll keep him here for now. We’ll let him sleep. He looks a bit thin too... has he been eating?”

“No clue,” Marvin shrugged.

“We’ll work on that too,” said Dr. Iplier. “And Jacques? Get your ass back into bed. You’re still under observation. You don’t just bounce back after being asleep for that long.”

“Fine,” Jacques said. “I will take this bed. Next to _mon cher ami...”_

He got into the bed next to Author and sighed, settling under the blankets.

“Awe, young love,” Dr. Iplier teased.

“Oh hush,” Jacques said. “It is a good friendship. Every author needs an illustrator, _non?”_

Jackie stared as Wilford completed his explanation.

“So... this is a story?” He asked. “I’m just... I really am just a character?”

“’Just a character’?” Wilford repeated. “No one here is ‘just a character’. You have no idea how much we have done for others. Just through our existence. Those audience members have written their own stories. Drawn their own art-”

“Drawn their own comics,” Jackie suddenly said. “The girl at the convention... she... she was inspired by me and drew a comic about me...”

“Exactly!” said Wilford. “We are not ‘just characters’. We are inspirations. Fuel for the creative minds of others. So never think you are any lesser for being a character...”

“But... how does this work?” Jackie asked. “You said... the author of the story is the one who controls everything. Whatever they write is what happens to us. So... what happens if they stop writing?”

“Well... that depends,” said Wilford. “An unfinished story sees us all stuck in limbo. We cannot do anything else because we are waiting for our ending. But.. If the story is finished, then we are free to do as we please because The Audience has seen what the author has given them and we no longer depend on the author for what happens next.”

Jackie shuddered. He could not even begin to imagine being stuck in limbo because a story was left unfinished. It sounded like some kind of cruel punishment a villain would be given in one of the comic books he read. But if Wilford was correct, this author had already finished a story with them. Surely this one would be finished too?

“Wow. I hope the author finishes this story, then...” He said. He glanced to the side where the eyes and shadows were still watching him. “So... are they... are they friendly?”

“Extremely!” Wilford beamed. “They really seem to like us. They’ve been cheering for us this whole time. You should have seen the verbal lashing they gave Actor back before he died...”

Jackie looked away, feeling conflicted.

“I... I don’t know how to feel about this,” he said. “I mean, this is so weird! They just watch us and speak to us and say things about us? I mean... I think I’ve spoken to them before, but not much...”

“Ah, well you’re still learning,” said Wilford. “I’ve been at this for far longer than anyone else, and I’ve been able to get around certain doors and walls and that allows me more freedom. I’m able to not just speak to The Audience, but to the author as well.”

“Really?” Jackie’s eyes widened. “What are they like?”

“They’re nice,” Wilford said. “They worry they’re not writing as well as they could be, but they adore The Audience. They’re writing this story just for them, after all. But I wouldn’t worry. The author may not always have a plan for the next chapter or... even really plan in mind, but they somehow manage to keep things progressing nicely and they’re not needlessly cruel to us.”

Jackie nodded slowly, not sure what else to say. On the one hand, this was quite a revelation... but on the other hand, If this has been going on for this long, why did it matter that he suddenly knew about it? It didn’t change anything, and there wasn’t really anything to be done about it, so why worry?

“I need to think about this,” Jackie said. “This is just too weird...”

“Of course,” Wilford said. “Take some time to think. Maybe go talk to them a bit. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to talk to you.”

“Thanks Wilford,” Jackie smiled. “It’s nice to know I’m not going crazy... even if the truth is... even crazier...”

He shook his head again and walked off.

Wilford smiled after him, but then he blinked when he heard a very familiar sound coming down the hallway. He looked behind himself to see... a corgi walking down the hallway. A corgi that was wearing a pair of glasses.

“Hello,” he knelt down as the corgi came to a stop in front of him. “Lovely to have you back, it felt a bit strange to have someone else holding the reigns as it were.” He scratched at the corgi’s ears. “Come to see how everyone is? Well, I think things are starting to calm down. Just don’t let anyone see you. A good few more people know about you now...”

The corgi barked and then ran off down the hall.

Robbie was outside for once. S34N had brought him outside, citing some article that said sunshine and fresh air was good for him. Robbie didn’t mind, he liked being outside. Plus, the other zombie egos were wandering around outside, and Zombethan and Zombyler were always fun to talk to. Robbie had asked S34N to let him go play with them, and S34N said he would be back later to bring him inside.

Now Robbie was sitting on one of the benches in the garden, watching the butterflies fly around, pawing at them occasionally. He suddenly heard a dog bark, and slowly turned to see a corgi scampering down the garden path.

“Dooooggggyyyy,” he smiled widely and reached down to clumsily pet the dog. The dog didn’t seem to mind if he was a bit rough, sitting patiently while he pet them.

“Robbie?” S34N’s voice rang out from down the path. “It’s time to come back inside. Are you out here?”

“Byyyeeeee dooooogggyyyy,” Robbie said as he stood up.

The dog ran off down another path just as S34N came around the corner.

“Come along, Robbie,” he smiled. “It’s time for dinner...”

“Foooooooddddd,” Robbie happily took S34N’s hand and followed him back to the house.


	60. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So today I learned that Sean, Mark, Thomas, and Nate are all around 5'10. 
> 
> Matpat is 5'11
> 
> Ethan is 5'8
> 
> And Dawko is anywhere between 6'3 and 6'5. I did not expect him to be that tall...

Remus was scary.

No one disputed that fact.

Remus was scary in so many ways. The things he said, the things he did, the things he summoned...

But he was not scary to Eric.

Remus didn’t mind spooking one of the egos with a clever prank, but he always made sure to not do that around Eric. He kept the disturbing thoughts and actions away from him, banishing them all with a smile and a ruffle of Eric’s hair.

Eric enjoyed it immensely. Derek had been very scary, and he’d been very scary to Eric. He’d done and said as he pleased with no thoughts about Eric’s reaction. But Remus? Remus actually took the time to rein himself in for Eric’s sake. Remus yelled, but not at Eric. Remus made fun of others, but not Eric. Remus had powers capable of bringing down some of the toughest egos... but he never raised a hand against Eric.

For Eric, it was like watching a lion act like a house cat whenever he entered the room. There had even been a few times that Remus stopped whatever he was doing as soon as Eric walked in...

“Morning, Eric,” Remus ruffled Eric’s hair, causing the younger ego to chuckle.

“Good morning, Remus,” he smiled. “Is breakfast done?”

“Chefiplier made French toast,” said Remus. “Go grab some in the kitchen.”

When Eric left, Remus saw Patton smiling at him.

“What?” He asked.

“You’re a dad now!” Patton gushed. “I’m so proud of you! But you need to dress the part...”

He snapped his fingers, and Remus’s outfit changed. He was now wearing a green polo, grey pants, some goofy dad sneakers, and a black cardigan was tied around his neck. His hair and mustache were both neatly groomed.

“There, much better,” Patton beamed.

Remus shuddered.

“It burns...” he hissed. “It burns us... Patton, don’t _ever_ change my clothes again.”

He changed his clothes back and messed up his hair again. He wasn’t a dad... was he? Well, he had kind of adopted Eric even before Derek had been consumed. But he’d never felt any different... Well, maybe he did. He felt very protective over Eric now. He felt the need to behave whenever Eric was around. He felt the need to treat Eric well and to help him overcome the toxic thinking that Derek had instilled in him...

“Remus, I brought you some French toast,” Eric reappeared at that moment, carrying two plates of food. “The common room should be free, let’s go watch some tv....”

Eric walked off, heading down the hallway.

“You don’t even like French toast,” Patton said with a knowing grin. “But... it’s the law among dads to always eat the foods our children bring us...”

Remus glanced at Patton and then shrugged.

“Guess I _am_ a dad,” he followed after Eric.

“So everything is finally quieting down?” Dark asked.

“Seems like it,” said Dr. Iplier. “Host was just here earlier, and he has his powers back. Jacques is on the road to recovery, and I’ve heard other good things from the others.”

“Thank god,” Dark sighed. “These past few days have been weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Devil Mark said from a nearby bed. “But we still have a threat out there.”

“I know,” Dark spun to face him. “And we will handle this. But if you have any useful information, please share with us.”

“Not much I can really say,” Devil Mark shrugged. “He’s nigh unstoppable. Anyone who tries to fight him will be drained before they can do much damage...”

“He has to have a weakness,” said Dark. “No ego is completely unstoppable.”

Devil Mark was silent for a moment.

“We could try using Styler,” he finally said. “Maybe there’s enough family love there to make him stop or surrender.”

“That’s idealistic at best and completely stupid at worst,” said Dark.

“You asked,” Devil Mark shrugged.

**“Cup of tea does sound nice,”** Dawktrap mused as he wore his headset. **“You take care of yourself, dear. I need my followers to be in good health...”**

He removed the headset with a smile and set it aside. It felt great to finally have his headset working again. He needed a way to communicate with his followers, especially since others wanted to join. Maybe he’d have a large following one day... Maybe even a bigger following than his creator.

He stood up and opened his door, thinking he might have some cake with his tea... and nearly ran into Paranormal.

“Oh sugar!” Dawktrap clutched his chest. “Nearly gave me a heart attack. You can’t just lurk around people’s doors like that...”

“Apologies,” said Paranormal. “I was sent to check on you. No one has seen you in a while.”

“Oh,” Dawktrap shrugged. “Thanks, Pi. I was just catching up on things. I didn’t have my headset for a few days and I needed to make sure everything was ok.”

“I see...” Paranormal tilted his head. “So you also speak to The Unseen?”

“Um... I dunno who that is,” said Dawktrap. “I’m just keeping an eye on my follower. Hoping to add a few more too...”

“A follower,” Paranormal repeated. “Interesting. So you have a different name for them...”

Dawktrap was confused. Did Paranormal know about his follower? Did he know about the other realities? Dawktrap had always wondered if anyone else knew what he did, and he was pretty sure someone else in this house did. He was just hesitant to ask anyone since he’d probably come off as crazy if he asked the wrong person...

“Very interesting...” Paranormal muttered as he walked off.

Dawktrap shook his head and headed down the hall. He’d worry about this after some tea and cake...

Jacques found himself standing in a void. It wasn’t quite a void, though. It looked more like a starry night sky. He heard a bark and smiled.

 _“Petit Chien,”_ he knelt down and pet the corgi that ran up to him. “I missed you. Never leave me again, huh? Now... what did you want to show me?”

The corgi barked again and scampered off. Jacques followed, happy to finally be able to paint again...


	61. The Calm Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following that Remus mentions is purely fictional.

Dawktrap was sitting on one of the couches with his long legs curled up under him. His hands were busy with a piece of vanilla pound cake, and his cup of tea was sitting on the side table on his right. He slowly chewed his treat, deep in thought.

“Others want to join? What would we even call ourselves?” He muttered. “How many want to join?”

“What are you talking about?” Remus asked from the couch next to Dawktrap. Eric was curled up at his side, his usual spot. At Remus’s question, he perked up, interested to hear what was going on.

“Well, I have a follower,” said Dawktrap, “and others want to join. But I don’t know what we would call ourselves...”

“Well... that depends,” said Remus. “Are you starting a cult, a religion, or some kind of life or health guidance thingy?”

“Um... I’m not sure,” Dawktrap thought about it. “Glitchtrap has a follower that he just uses to help spread his influence and mind control, and he’s the one who is supposed to make up part of me. But, I don’t want to control anyone. Sounds really messy...”

“Oh it is,” Remus agreed. “I had a following of my own when I was just a character. They called themselves _Diejenigen, die den Müll schnüffeln.”_

“And what does that mean?” Dawktrap sipped his tea.

“It means ‘The Ones who Sniff the Garbage’,” said Remus. “But, not everyone speaks German so they just started calling themselves ‘Trash People’. They would draw fanart of me and write wonderful little stories about me and things like that. It was glorious!”

“I suppose that could be what my followers do,” Dawktrap mused. “At least for now. Hmm... starting any sort of cult or religion just sounds complicated and exhausting...”

“Our Lord and Master Dawktrap,” said Remus. “Hmmm, no. His Holiness, Lord Dawktrap. Nah... Dawktrap, the Glitch God. Oh, definitely not...”

Eric chuckled, and Dawktrap couldn’t help but chuckle too. True that Glitchtrap had been the one to have the follower, and even then Vanny hasn’t done much yet. But if people wanted to follow Dawktrap, he supposed he could let them. And they could just... appreciate him? Shower him in praise? Something easy. He didn’t want anything too complicated...

“We’ll see,” he finally said. “Maybe something will come of it, maybe not.”

“That’s a good attitude,” said Remus. _“Que sera sera.”_

Paranormal looked intently at the layer of water that hung in the air. On the other side, he could see The Unseen, but now he was trying to see something else.

“Who else knows about you?” He wondered softly to himself. “Dawktrap called you his followers. Can he hear you too?”

He pressed his hand against the water and watched it ripple.

“I cannot hear you,” he said. “I can only see you. Is it possible to hear you too? What are you saying? Do you speak terrible secrets? Do you know things that we do not? How useful would it be to be able to hear you... and who else can see or hear you?”

It was all so confusing. For so long, he thought he was the only one who could see such things. But others could apparently not only see them but hear them too. Paranormal was curious as to what they could be saying. Who else could hear them? Who else could see them?

He’d have to find out somehow, but he was unsure of how to continue.

“Who would be the most obvious one?” he mused to himself. “Whose power would allow them to glimpse-”

He suddenly fell silent, watching the water slowly change color. At first it was red, but then it faded to...

“Pink,” Paranormal said. “Pink. Of course! Of course it would be him! His mind lies in regions far beyond this one. He is a split man. A man who’s very being is quartered and tethered to different worlds. He would know them. He would see them. Perhaps... he would hear them too...”

Paranormal banished the water back into the sink it came from. He needed to speak to Wilford...

Author was certain that he was dreaming. He was back in the forest again, the full moon illuminating everything so brightly that he could see just fine. He wandered around, hearing coyotes howl in the distance and owls hoot from overhead. Everything was so peaceful, and it pained him to remember a time when he had this.

He paused when he heard a new sound. Something approaching him. He turned around and gasped when he saw a little corgi walk up to him. He knelt down and gathered the corgi into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I tried my best while you were gone. I swear I did. It was so draining on me. It was so difficult. I had forgotten how much our writing demands of us. How much of our blood and soul we pour into it. Did... Did I at least do a good job?”

The corgi licked his face and then squirmed out of his hold. It barked and then began walking down the path. Author tilted his head curiously and followed it.

“Where are we going?” He asked. “There’s no one else here. It’s usually just me-”

“Author?”

Author froze when he heard the familiar voice. Sure enough, the corgi had led him to Jacques.

“Jacques?” Author asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I... I believe that I am dreaming,” said Jacques. “But... I’ve never had a dream like this. Are you dreaming too?”

“Yes,” said Author. “The corgi must have brought us together. But why?”

“I do not know,” Jacques sounded confused. _“Petite Chienne,_ what is going on?”

The corgi barked and then began to walk down a different path. Jacques and Author followed, curious to see what would happen next.

“How’s your wrist?” Anti asked.

Jameson moved his hand around a bit and smiled.

**It feels much better. Thank you for rescuing me, Anti.**

“Next time don’t go out by yourself,” said Anti. “At least not until that ego is taken care of.”

 **It was strange,** Jameson furrowed his brows. **His aura felt... off.**

“How can you tell?” Anti asked.

 **It’s hard to explain,** Jameson shook his head. **But... I feel as though I’ve felt that aura before...**


	62. The Newcomer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *One of my favorite youtubers has a fanon ego*  
> Me: It's free real estate.

He was a dark side ego, he knew that.

But he didn’t know much else.

He was a fanon ego, born of his creator’s fans. His creator’s... companions. But even if he was a dark side ego... he didn’t feel very dark. He didn’t feel very evil. He felt... nothing really.

He was just another thread in the rug, what did his existence matter?

His aura was a swirl of red and black, like a dying fire trapped in its own black smoke or a light suffocated by shadow. His tone was always soft and gentle, hiding the power that laid within.

He kept a low profile. No sense in treading on the toes of those who were more powerful than him...

But even as he tried to keep a low profile, someone still found him. Someone who tried to kill him by draining his aura, but only managed to weaken him before he could get free. He needed a place to recover, and he knew of one.

_“This address is a safe house,” Phantom had told him. “Go there if you need protection. They’re a bit leery of dark egos, but I don’t think you’ll be turned away. You’re harmless enough...”_

He could only hope that Phantom had been right...

The house was huge, they certainly had room for him. He passed by a couple of mermen on his way to the door, but he didn’t stop. He was tired, so tired. He needed to keep going so that he could fall asleep in a bed. He could fall asleep while safe...

He entered the house and stopped by the security desk.

“Oh, you’re a new kind,” Security Nate said. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone with your face before...”

“I’m the only one... as far as I know...” he groaned softly.

“I just need to get you registered, then you can go see our doctor if you need it,” said Security Nate. “May I have your name and your creator's name, please?”

“My name is Dalzar,” said the new ego. "My creator is Zalzar..."

Jacques woke up with a gasp.

He glanced at the bed next to him to see that Author was still asleep. Why was he still asleep? Why was Jacques awake? He’d woken up before the corgi could show him what he needed to see.

 _“Zut,”_ he muttered. “Maybe it is not yet the time...”

He was hungry. He needed food. He got out of bed and yawned as he went for the door, but he paused when he noticed another bed was occupied. This ego was new, but Jacques had seen them before in France. He had paid Jacques money for a quick portrait on the street...

Jacques had no idea this man was an ego...

The ego’s eyes suddenly opened, revealing irises of bright red. Jacques opened his mouth to cry out in surprise, but the ego moved quick as a flash and covered his mouth.

“Shhhh,” he said. “You do not want to wake your companion...” He spoke with an accent.

Jacques nodded and the ego moved his hand.

“I remember you,” Jacques said softly. “I painted your picture. I’m Jacques.”

“Oh?” the ego tilted his head in thought. “Oh! Yes, I remember you. My name is Dalzar. I still have the portrait.”

“Are you ok?” Jacques asked. “You look a bit pale. Are you sick?”

“No,” Dalzar sighed. “I was attacked by another ego. He tried to drain my aura and kill me. I barely managed to get away...”

“Drained your aura?” Jacques’s eyes widened. “You need to talk to Dark. A few of our own had a run in with an ego like that...”

“Dark?” Dalzar sounded confused. “I don’t know who that is. I’ve only met the doctor and the guards at the front.”

“Dark runs things around here,” Jacques explained. “I can have him come in here and talk to you.”

“I would prefer that,” Dalzar said. “I don’t really feel up to leaving this infirmary just yet...”

Jacques nodded.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll go get him.”

He left the infirmary and made his way upstairs to Dark’s office.

“Wilford?” Paranormal asked as he entered the common room. Wilford was on the couch cleaning his signature revolver. He looked up when Paranormal entered.

“Pie!” He smiled. “How are you?”

“I wanted to speak to you,” said Paranormal. “It has come to my attention that it’s possible that other people in this house are able to see The Unseen. Naturally, my thoughts went to you, so... I wanted to inquire whether you have this ability or not.”

“The Unseen?” Wilford repeated. “I... I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean...”

“The Unseen,” Paranormal repeated. “The... the Shadow Beings? The Silent Observers?”

Wilford blinked, and Paranormal could almost see the gears turning in his head. Wilford then perked up when it seemed to click for him.

“Oh! Do you mean The Audience?” He asked.

“Possibly,” Paranormal steepled his fingers. “What is The Audience?”

Wilford blinked again and took a few minutes to try to figure out what to say.

“Well... it’s The Audience,” he finally said. “I think... I think it’s pretty self explanatory. They watch us. They can even interact with some of us...”

“The beings do?” Paranormal raised an eyebrow. “So you can hear them as well as see them?”

“Even better,” Wilford grinned. “I can talk to them too!”

“Talk to them?” Paranormal asked.

This was very interesting. Paranormal knew them as nothing more than shadow beings. People who watched but didn’t make a sound. He had no idea they could speak, let alone speak to the other people of this world. But why could they speak to Wilford and not to him? Did Wilford have a power that he didn’t? It was possible, not every ego was created equal. Some had powers that others didn’t...

“What do they say?” Paranormal asked.

“They just talk about how much they love us,” said Wilford. “And how excited they are. Things like that. A lot of them find you very intriguing.”

“R-Really?” Paranormal couldn’t help the slight blush that bloomed on his face. “I had no idea... but how can you speak to them? I can only see them...”

“Well that’s simple,” Wilford said. “You use water to see them, right?”

“Yes,” Paranormal nodded.

“Well...” Wilford said. “You can’t very well hear someone when they’re talking underwater, can you?”


	63. The Ripples in the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you guys don't know who Zalzar is, please go look him up on Youtube. He does reactions and lets plays and he is one of the sweetest most wholesome youtubers I know. XD

“You had a confrontation with Xyler?” Dark asked.

“Well... I don’t know if that was his name,” said Dalzar. “But if you’re referring to the one who tried to drain my aura, then yes. He attacked me just the other day.”

“Where did he attack you?” Dark asked.

“A few states away,” said Dalzar. “I don’t know the exact location. I’m not familiar with this country’s geography, my creator is Swedish.”

“Then why are you here?” Dark asked.

Dalzar was silent for a moment.

“I didn’t think my creator would like to see me, so I came here instead. I’d heard of other egos gathering here and was hoping for shelter,” he said.

Dark nodded slowly. His house was becoming rather popular. At this rate, they would need to expand again. But if Dalzar was seeking shelter, they would grant it. As long as Dalzar behaved. Dark couldn’t exactly express any concerns about him being a dark side ego without looking like a massive hypocrite...

“How did you get away from Xyler?” Dark asked. “He was able to bring down a very powerful ego. But you only seem to be suffering from a bit of exhaustion. How did you manage to get away unscathed?”

Dalzar suddenly looked very nervous. He looked away and fidgeted with the blanket that was laying over him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He seemed to be locked in a tough mental debate.

“Dalzar?” Dark prompted. “Answer me.”

Dalzar sighed heavily.

“My creator is all about companionship,” said Dalzar. “About bringing people together. As his dark side, my ability is to... take things apart. I have the ability to separate an ego from their aura and temporarily render them powerless. But it’s a massive drain on my energy, so I only use it when I have no other choice. I was able to do so with Xyler, and then I escaped and came to this place.”

Dark’s eyes widened. An ability like that would have been so helpful a number of times in the past. But it was also worrying. Dalzar said ‘temporarily’, but Dark couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way for it to be permanent and Dalzar just wasn’t telling them.

“You’re sure it’s only temporary?” He asked.

“That’s all I’ve been able to do,” said Dalzar. “I’ve yet to make it permanent.”

Dark narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He’d have to talk to Host later...

“Very well,” he said out loud. “You are welcome to stay, but I am the head of this household and you will abide by the rules. If you do anything to hurt anyone or betray my trust, you will be forcibly removed and you will not be able to stay here any longer. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Dalzar suppressed a shudder. This guy was intimidating...

“They cannot speak through water,” Paranormal muttered to himself. “Surely it can’t be that simple. It cannot be that simple! Can it...? The rules of their world very rarely follow logic. And either way, water is all I can use to view them. How can I change water so that it’s not water?”

He’d left the house entirely and walked to a lake that was out in the woods. He’d need as much water as he could get if he was going to figure this out, and the Mermen were already angry at him for stealing from their pools...

Paranormal walked across the water as he thought to himself. What was he missing? Did he even have the power needed to make such a connection? Did they even want to speak to him? Conversation was a two way street, after all. He could talk at them all he wanted, but if they didn’t want to respond, then he wouldn’t hear a thing...

He raised a wall of water before him and looked carefully. He could see them there. They were always there. He pressed his ear against the wall of water but heard nothing. Were they really speaking, or had Wilford been lying? Was it really possible to interact with them in such a way? The way that Wilford had described?

Paranormal watched them through the wall of water, tapping his chin as he tried to figure out what to do.

“How do I make it both water and not-water at the same time?” He mused.

Well, there were a few different things that water could be changed into. Maybe he could try something like that. He pressed his hands against the wall of water and let his magic flow through it. The water began to freeze into ice, forming a thick wall of it all the way to the bottom of the lake. Paranormal struggled to remove his hands, but managed to do so. They were both cold and numb, but he ignored them.

“Surely this would work,” he said softly. “This makes an actual window. I could see and hear them...”

Paranormal reached up and wiped away the frost on the ice... and then frowned. The ice was not clear, it was cloudy, and now he couldn’t even see them let alone hear them. He gave a growl of frustration and smashed his fist against the wall of ice, shattering it and sending it back into the lake as water.

Paranormal sighed heavily and fell back into the water. He let himself hang upside down, feet still planted firmly against the surface. He breathed the water into his lungs and closed his eyes.

What was he missing? Water didn’t work. Ice didn’t work. What else could he use?

A thought struck him. Maybe.... oh, this could work...

Paranormal surfaced again and then began to run his magic through the lake. He’d need all the water available for this. He began to heat the water until it was boiling and evaporating. He increased his magic more and more and then finally let loose a blast.

He fell to his knees, hands burned and hurting, but he looked up with hope in his eyes. Would this work? The evaporated water formed a cloud and then it began to rain. Paranormal shakily got back to his feet, looking around eagerly. He could see them in the rain, and... he could hear muffled voices that steadily became clearer until he could hear what they were saying.

“It worked,” he whispered. “It worked!”


	64. The Threads of the Mind

“How did this happen?!” Dr. Iplier was rubbing burn ointment on Paranormal’s hands.

“Boiling water,” Paranormal said with a shrug.

“Are you going to explain further?” Dr. Iplier narrowed his eyes.

“No...?” Paranormal said slowly.

“You idiot!” Dr. Iplier smacked the back of Paranormal’s head. “You’re lucky these aren’t worse. I don’t exactly have extra skin lying around for grafts, I’ll have you know. I’d have to take you to an actual hospital.”

“But it worked!” Paranormal grinned. “I can hear them now!”

“Hear who?” Dr. Iplier was unraveling some bandages.

“The Unseen!” Paranormal sounded very excited. “I didn’t know that they could speak, but they can and now I can hear them! They really seem to like me.”

“Oh really?” Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow. “Did they tell you that you’re an idiot for injuring yourself like this?”

“Actually... some of them did,” Paranormal said. “A _few_ of them did. They were rather... vehement about it.”

“Good!” Dr. Iplier secured the bandages. “Maybe now you’ll listen when you have more than just me yelling at you. Leave these bandages on and come back to me in a few hours so that I can check up on them. Try not to use your hands too much, so just go plop yourself on a couch and watch some television. Shouldn’t take long to heal as long as we keep them clean, and you shouldn’t too much scarring if any...”

“Thank you, Dr. Iplier,” Paranormal smiled.

He’d only heard half of what Dr. Iplier had said. The rest had gone right through his other ear. It wasn’t exactly his fault, it did happen often. Whenever Paranormal made any kind of breakthrough he tended to throw caution into the wind and ignore almost anything else. He was working on not doing that, but it was slow going at best...

“I need to go find Wilford and tell him about this...” Paranormal began to shimmy off the bed he’d been sitting on, but Dr. Iplier stopped him.

“I am going to walk you to one of the common rooms,” Dr. Iplier said clearly. “I am going to put you on one of the couches. I will come back for you after a few hours. If you are not on that couch when I get back, or if someone tells me you left the couch for anything other than a good reason... I will strap you to one of these beds and you will recover in here with us.”

“I recommend you listen to him,” Dalzar said from his bed. “Show respect to the healers.”

He went back to the book he was reading, turning a page and settling back more against his pillows.

“I... fine,” Paranormal sighed. “I suppose I can wait to talk to Wilford. But this is a major breakthrough! I have to speak to him soon about it. We need to compare notes-”

He broke off when Dr. Iplier slowly held up one of the bed restraints, giving Paranormal a meaningful look.

“But... that can wait!” Paranormal said nervously. “It can wait. Can... can you please help me to the couch now?”

“You know I do this because I care about you,” said Dr. Iplier.

“I know,” said Paranormal.

Dr. Iplier helped Paranormal off the bed and led him out of the infirmary. True to his word, he took him to one of the common rooms and set him on the couch. Illinois was kind enough to offer to watch him until Dr. Iplier came back...

While Dr. Iplier was gone, Author began to move and whimper in his sleep. Dalzar looked up from his book, hearing his distress. Author’s face grimaced and he tossed and turned faster as if he were trying to get away from something.

 _“En mardröm...”_ Dalzar said softly.

He slowly got up and carefully made his way over to Author’s bed. He hoped he wasn’t going too far with this, but it did seem like a very bad dream. Dalzar had told Dark that his abilities centered around breaking things apart, and it was true. He could disconnect an ego from their aura, but he could do more than that.

Dalzar took a deep breath and then conjured his magic to bring up Author’s connections. Several different colored threads appeared over Author, and Dalzar took his time to sift through them. He found the one that connected to Author’s aura and carefully moved it aside. He found the one that connected author to his ability, and... he was surprised to see the connection knotted. That meant that Author was being blocked from his ability.

He wondered what the story was there...

Shaking his head, Dalzar continued until he found the one he needed. The thread that connected Author to the nightmare he was having. He took the thread into his hands... and carefully snapped it. The thread withered and crumbled away, and Author slowly fell still.

Dalzar reached down and ran his hand through Author’s hair. Author’s face slowly relaxed and he was calm again.

 _“Sov gott, bra man,”_ he said softly. _“Du är säker här…"_

He smiled and began to banish the connections he saw, but then he paused.

One connection was attached to Author and the artist that was sleeping in the next bed over. What was his name? Jacques! They were connected somehow, and Dalzar couldn’t tell what kind of connection it was. He'd seen friendships, romantic connections, familial connections, and more... but this one did not resemble any of those.

It begged the question... how were these two connected?

When Dr. Iplier finally came back, Dalzar was back in his bed with his book.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” Dr. Iplier asked.

“Um... he looked like he was having a nightmare,” Dalzar said, pointing at Author. “But he calmed down quickly enough. They’ve both been sleeping soundly otherwise.”

“Good,” Dr. Iplier said, looking between the two beds. “I should be able to discharge them by tomorrow. Hopefully you too with any luck. If you keep resting and eating until then.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Dalzar chuckled. “It will be nice to meet the others. I cannot wait.”


	65. The Crime of Being a Dark Ego

“The Host greets Dalzar.”

Dalzar had just finished changing into the clothes that Dr. Iplier had given him to wear until he could get new ones. Dalzar’s old clothes had been dark and a bit frayed in some spots, but these clothes were soft, smelled nice, and the shirt had a smiling kitten on it.

He’d taken a moment to examine his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He looked so much like his creator and so different at the same time. His creator had dark blonde hair while Dalzar’s was more of an ice blonde, almost white in some lights. His creator had bright blue eyes, but Dalzar’s were a deep crimson. His creator’s smile was warm and friendly, while Dalzar’s... made him look like he was about to murder someone.

Dalzar turned around to look at the Host, tilting his head slightly.

 _“Hej,”_ he said. “I have not met you yet.”

“The Host has not met Dalzar either,” Host smiled. “At least not in person...”

“Oh,” Dalzar sounded a bit confused. “Is... is that your name? Host? You have an odd way of speaking...”

“Yes, that is The Host’s name,” Host chuckled. “This is how The Host speaks. It is also how The Host sees. It allows The Host to see and know nearly everything. The Host apologizes if it is unsettling to Dalzar.”

“Not unsettling,” Dalzar shook his head. “Just different.”

“The Host was sent here by Darkiplier,” Host said, sitting in a nearby chair. “Darkiplier is still hesitant to trust Dalzar, and so he sent The Host to question him.”

Question him? Dalzar almost felt as if they were calling him a criminal. He could understand, though. In some corner of his mind. There was a serious stigma when it came to being a ‘dark ego’. The other egos were much more hesitant to trust or welcome you.

“What questions did you want to ask?” Dalzar finally asked.

“The Host simply wants to know... what does Dalzar hope to gain from this?” Host asked.

“If you already know everything, then you should already know my answer,” said Dalzar.

“Indeed The Host does,” Host tilted his head. “But The Host wishes to see if Dalzar will try to lie to him...”

Dalzar sighed through his nose. This house was confusing, and he’d been here for only a day...

“A core part of my creator’s channel is about companionship,” Dalzar said. “Bonds formed with friends and family and other loved ones. He always encourages unity, and he encourages it all so much that it’s become a big part of myself too. I cannot stand being alone. I do not wish to be alone any longer. I just... I want a home. I want a place to sleep and feel safe. I want to be surrounded by good people, and... maybe have some companions of my own...”

“Why did Dalzar not come to us sooner?” Host asked.

“It is difficult to convince someone to trust you when you are a dark ego,” said Dalzar. “I was able to get assistance from Phantom, but not many others wanted to help me. I was afraid that if I came here, I would be attacked or turned away...”

Host was silent for a moment, and Dalzar couldn’t help but feel as if Host was staring right into his soul despite not having any eyes. It was a bit chilling, but he didn’t move away.

“Dalzar is telling the truth,” Host finally said.

“I am not a liar,” Dalzar folded his arms. “At least, not all the time...”

Host chuckled and nodded his head.

“Thank you for answering The Host’s questions,” he said as he stood up. “The Host will let Dark know that Dalzar is not a threat. In the meantime, Dalzar should find a room. There are still some available on the second floor.”

 _“Tack,”_ Dalzar smiled. “I will go now.”

Host left the infirmary and Dalzar sighed in relief.

 _“Den mannen är läskig,”_ he muttered to himself.

He left the infirmary and went up the first staircase that he saw. He still didn’t know the layout of the house, but he assumed he would learn it soon enough. He just hoped that Dark would let him stay long enough to do so...

“Ay! You with the white hair!”

Dalzar paused and slowly turned around to see another ego approaching him.

“You Dalzar?” the ego asked. “I heard about you, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Yes, I am him,” Dalzar looked confused.

“I’m Dawktrap,” said the ego. “I have a message for you from one of my followers.”

“Oh?” Dalzar raised an eyebrow. “What is the message?”

“They want you to know that they really like you and they think you’re very sweet and wonderful. Also, since you’re new... I figured I’d help you out a bit. This house can get confusing if you’re not careful...”

“Um... sure?” Dalzar said slowly.

Dawktrap looked nice enough, but Dalzar had no clue what he meant when he said ‘followers.’ Did some of these egos start a cult? Dalzar had heard of a cult before that seemed to center around the colors black and white. Actually, Dalzar hadn’t heard much about it lately...

Dawktrap slung an arm around Dalzar’s shoulders and led him down the hallway.

“I know this is all overwhelming,” he said. “I was overwhelmed my first day here too. So much to see, so much going on, so many different egos staying here. It can be pretty intimidating for the new ones, but you can’t let it get you down too much. You’ll adjust quick enough, I promise. Plus there aren’t that many rules here, and the rules that we _do_ have are pretty easy to follow. Just play nice and don’t make Dark angry and you’ll do just fine. Understand so far?”

“I think so,” Dalzar said, looking at the doors as they passed them. Several of them were decorated with names on the plates. They finally came to one that was bare. Dawktrap opened the door and gestured for Dalzar to step inside.

The room itself wasn’t too bad. It had a bed, a dresser, a closet, and a desk. The window had sheer curtains and overlooked the gardens outside.

“Nice, innit?” Dawktrap smiled. “You can decorate as you please, but don’t go damaging anything. Just make sure you write your name on the plate outside so people know to not come in.”

“Right,” Dalzar looked around the room with a smile.

He was certain he was going to enjoy his time here...


	66. The Glitchy Boi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know that Thomas is only 5'10, but I'm a big fan of Tall Remus, so I put him around Dawktrap's height. He's only an inch or two shorter.

Dawktrap started to wonder if he should set up an answering machine or an inbox for his followers. They seemed to be building up a to-do list for him...

First it was go deliver a message to the newbie, and now they wanted him to go check on Pi and Wilford and set up a meeting between Dalzar and Madpat.

Where was Madpat, anyway? Dawktrap hadn’t seen him much lately. Him or Shawn...

Dawktrap froze in the middle of the hallway and tried to think on it. When was the last time he’d seen Shawn and Madpat? How long ago had it been?

“Mmmm...” Dawktrap closed his eyes and pressed his hands over his face as he tried to remember when was the last time...

“Finally doing us all a favor and hiding that ugly mug of yours?”

Dawktrap lowered his hands and saw Remus standing in front of him. Eric was at his side... where he usually was these days.

“Remus,” Dawktrap greeted. “Thought I smelled something rotten...”

“It’s a new cologne I’m trying out,” Remus preened at the praise. “So why are you having an existential crisis in the middle of the day?”

“You haven’t seen Mads and Shawn around, have you?” Dawktrap asked. “I was asked to introduce Mads to the new guy, but I don’t think I’ve seen him for a while now.”

“You didn’t know?” Remus asked. “They went on vacation. Dark gave them special permission and they went to Disney World.”

Dawktrap blinked. He had... not been expecting that.

“Seriously?” He asked. “Oh, well I don’t blame them. Mads did seem a bit buried in the ball pit, as it were. Well, that’s one mystery solved.”

“There’s more than one mystery?” Remus brightened. “I can help you solve the others! What’s next on the list?”

“Well... my followers are trying to think of what to call me,” said Dawktrap. “As their leader...”

“Glitchy Boi,” Remus said without a second of hesitation.

Dawktrap stared. He had said that so quickly...

“No,” Dawktrap said. “They’re not calling me that. That’s just... not a fitting name.”

“Then why does it say it on your name tag?” Remus asked, pointing at Dawktrap’s vest.

“What name-” Dawktrap looked down and his eyes widened.

A nametag was stuck to the front of his vest that said ‘Hello, my name is Glitchy Boi.’ Dawktrap frowned and ripped the tag off... but another one was right underneath it that said the same thing. Dawktrap then ripped that one off, and... there was... another one...

Dawktrap growled to himself as he continued to rip the name tags off, the pile at his feet steadily growing bigger and bigger. Remus stood before him with a smirk on his face, and Eric was trying to hide his giggles behind his hands.

Dawktrap finally ripped one more tag off, and there was still one under it. He stuck the tag to Remus’s face and then turned around and walked off.

“Where are you going?” Remus called after him. “I thought we were bonding!”

Dawktrap gave no response, and Eric finally burst out laughing.

“Eh,” Remus shrugged. “Come on, Eric. Let’s go bother Logan now.”

Dawktrap growled again as he glared down at the nametag on his vest. He couldn’t be called this. Not by his followers. He needed... something dignified. Something powerful. Something... that was not this. Right? That’s how things worked. Leaders got cool and powerful names. And he would need a name for his followers too.

Hmm... ‘The Glitched Ones’ had a nice ring to it...

“Dawky!”

Dawktrap yelped as Wilford suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Oh sugar!” He wheezed. “Wilford, don’t do that! Wait... Actually, I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen Pi anywhere?”

“Pi?” Wilford tilted his head. “Hmm... not lately. Why?”

“My followers were asking to check on him,” said Dawktrap.

“You too?” Wilford raised an eyebrow. “Something must be wrong with him, then.”

Dawktrap blinked. What did Wilford mean by that? Did he have followers too? Dawktrap couldn’t even begin to imagine what being a follower of Wilford would be like. Probably a lot of murder and candy. Still, it wasn’t too far fetched to think that Wilford had followers. He’d always been a popular ego, one of the most recognizable that Mark had ever created...

“Well, let’s give the chap a visit,” Wilford said. “He’s sure to be around here somewhere...”

Dawktrap snapped from his thoughts and followed after Wilford.

They found Paranormal in one of the common rooms. He was still being made to sit and watch television by Dr. Iplier, and he was beginning to get restless. He should be experimenting. He should be trying to make contact with The Unseen again. Instead, he was stuck on a couch with a mother hen doctor keeping him there...

He briefly thought about just getting up and walking off. He was a grown man. He could do as he pleased... but then he remembered Dr. Iplier’s threat and decided to just stay put for now.

“Pi, there you are,” Wilford smiled as he entered the common room. “We were looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” Paranormal repeated. “What for?”

“Oh dear, what happened to your hands?” Wilford finally noticed the bandages.

“I burned them,” Paranormal shrugged. “I was experimenting.”

“Was it successful?” Wilford asked.

“Very,” Paranormal grinned. “I was able to hear The Unseen!”

Wilford raised an eyebrow. He often wondered what it was like to have to work so hard to see and hear something that he was able to do very easily. He had no idea you had to burn your hands in order to do it.

“Well, don’t do that again,” Wilford said. “The Audience is very adamant about us not doing anything stupid that could cause us harm. They want us to be safe and healthy and happy.”

“It was just once,” said Paranormal. “Next time should be different now that I have a better idea of what to do. I just need to tweak it a bit is all...”

“Well, next time make sure you have adult supervision,” Wilford said as he sat down next to Paranormal. “Or safety equipment.”

Paranormal stuck his tongue out at Wilford, making Dawktrap laugh.


	67. The New Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much plot here, I just wanted to show off Styler's abilities...

**Are you sure this is necessary?**

Jameson was standing in the middle of the room with a few Septics watching from the couches. Marvin, Anti, Chase, and Jackie were watching with amused looks on their faces.

“Never a bad time for a much needed makeover,” Styler said as he circled Jameson, mouth pulling up and down and he looked over his usual outfit. “You're not a lost cause, but you could use a new look.”

 **What’s wrong with the one I already have?** Jameson kept trying to follow Styler’s path, turning his head left and right to keep an eye on him.

“It’s... elegant,” Styler said. “But it makes you look a bit... washed out. Blue is a nice color, but you have to pair it well otherwise you blend right into the background and no one gives you a second glance. Now... red, on the other hand. Red would be a better color. One must never be afraid to go bold.”

 **Bold?** Jameson looked nervous.

“Bold!” Styler repeated.

“Bold!” The Septics chorused from the couch, laughing and chuckling at Jameson’s terrified expression. Obviously, the gentlemen had always played it safe with his clothes before...

“This vest is not the right size,” Styler gave it a critical look. “It hides so much of your figure, and you should show it off. If I recall, broad shoulders and trim waists were very much the desired look back in your time...”

He pressed his hands onto Jameson’s shoulders, and the vest promptly changed into a red vest that had black pinstripes. It also shrunk until it hugged Jameson’s shoulders and sides. Jameson gave a silent gasp and rubbed a hand around his stomach and waist. It wasn’t painfully tight, but it was tighter than he was used to.

“And this shirt,” Styler tugged at one of Jameson’s sleeves. “The sleeves are actually too tight. You want the puffier sleeves. Makes your arms look bigger and gives them more volume. And the white is too boring. Black! A nice background to make the red pop out further...”

He tugged at Jameson’s shirt and it changed to a deep black with red sleeve garters.

“Oh wow,” Chase said. “That does look really good. Styler, I don’t suppose you could help me next? Maybe a new style will help my dating chances...”

“Always happy to help,” Styler didn’t take his eyes off of Jameson, taking in how everything looked so far. “Hmm...”

Jameson shrunk back only slightly. Styler was intimidating through size alone, but those stony eyes and intense gaze made him look like some kind of predator in the wild.

“That bowtie is bothering me,” Styler finally said. “It’s too much. Let’s do a nice red tie instead...”

He snapped his fingers and the bowtie changed into a matching tie. Jameson smoothed it down out of reflex. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he looked, all decked out in red and black like some kind of gangster...

“The pants are too plain,” Styler’s words burst through. “They need something to make them pop...”

Jameson felt a hand tap his hip, and then his slacks changed until it hugged his legs a bit tighter and then dark grey pinstripes bloomed down them.

“Black leather gloves!” Styler held Jameson’s hands over his head and black leather grew into existence to encase them. “No one can resist black leather gloves...”

Jameson tugged his hands out of Styler’s grip and stepped back, feeling a bit uncomfortable. This was all too new, too much outside of his usual style. He probably looked like some kind of gangster or pimp or other unsavory sort.

“Change the shoes,” Styler snapped his fingers again. “Give them a bit of a heel.”

Jameson stumbled with a silent yelp as his shoes changed.

“And finally, that hair,” Styler smoothed it back until it looked smooth and gelled, not a strand out of place. “And... done!”

Jameson tugged at his clothes, wishing he had his old ones back. The Septics oohed over him from the couch, eyes wide with amazement.

“Whoa, he looks so different,” said Jackie. “I almost can’t believe that’s him.”

“You stand out so much more like this,” Marvin said. “You have a much better stage presence...”

“You don’t look like a wimp anymore,” Anti chuckled.

Jameson frowned, looking angry. He turned towards them to give them a good nonverbal lashing, but then Styler was turning Jameson towards the mirror, and he saw...

Oh.

Oh dear...

Jameson had to admit... he did look rather good. He still had an elegance about him, but it was so much more... dominant. Almost animalistic. He looked both elegant and dangerous, but not so much to discourage a second look. He’d certainly stare if he saw a man like this on the streets. He almost wished he had a black fur trimmed coat to complete the look...

“Well?” Styler prompted. “I know it’s different, but sometimes different is good. It’s good to change up your style every now and then. Reinvent yourself, you know? I’ve certainly done it before...”

Granted, he had done it to make it harder for Xyler to find him...

 **I... I don’t know what to say,** Jameson was still staring at his reflection. **It looks really good. _I_ look really good. I... I suppose that I was so worried about propriety that I didn’t dare to branch out or experiment with other styles.**

“And this look still conforms with what a proper gentleman would wear,” Styler pointed out. “Just a more... debonair gentleman.”

“You look great, Jaime,” Chase said as he stood up. “Now move over, I’m next...”

“The Host has interrogated Dalzar,” Host said to Dark. “He has determined that Dalzar is not a threat to the others, and he has a feeling that Dalzar will prove useful against Xyler somehow.”

“Can you figure out how?” Dark asked from behind his desk.

“The Host apologizes, but he cannot. The future is still unclear and still settling,” said Host.

“That’s too bad,” Dark sighed. “Any luck in finding Xyler?”

“The Host is trying, but he is unable to,” said Host. “The Host... The Host almost feels as if something is hiding Xyler from Host’s Sight.”

“Hiding him?” Dark’s eyes widened. “How? Is that even possible?”

“It takes a very powerful magic,” said Host, “but it _is_ possible. Xyler must be more powerful than we have assumed so far.”

“Impossible,” Dark shook his head. “Devil Mark and Jameson both said that while Xyler is powerful, he isn’t godlike or anything like that. It must be something else...”

“Did Jameson Jackson not also mention that something felt familiar about Xyler’s aura?” Host asked. “Perhaps that is related to why The Host cannot find him.”

“But why would it feel familiar?” Dark asked. “Jameson would tell me if it felt like an ego he knew. Unless... unless it’s an ego he’s met only once or twice...”

Dark was silent for a moment before he finally stood up from his chair.

“I need to speak to him,” he said. “Where is he?”

“In the west common room on the second floor,” said Host. “The Host will keep trying to find Xyler while Dark interrogates Jameson Jackson...”


	68. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a reminder that if you have never seen any of Zalzar's videos, go check him out on youtube. He does great content.

_“Xyler, please!”_

_“Just hold still, Styler...”_

_Xyler had him by the hair again, a vice like grip tangled in soft strands. He always went for Styler’s hair. Sometimes he’d even ripped parts of it out when Styler struggled. Styler’s hair always grew back in very quickly when that happened, but it always hurt._

_“Xyler, I can’t. Please... you’re going to kill me. Please let me go...”_

_“Styler... I’m sorry. I... I need more. I need it...”_

_Styler should have been used to the feeling of Xyler latching onto his aura, but he wasn’t and he never would be. It always hurt, it always felt nauseating, it always felt horrible and made Styler’s skin crawl. No matter how many times Xyler did it, Styler would never be used to it..._

_Styler could feel his strength draining, his legs giving out quickly. He didn’t have much energy to begin with, not with Xyler feeding from him so much these days. His chains rattled slightly as he began to go limp in Xyler’s hold, but Xyler still didn’t stop. Xyler kept draining more and more from Styler’s aura, causing it to fade slightly and move sluggishly._

_Darkness began to fill Styler’s vision, and a horrible chill slipped through him. He needed to breathe, but he was quickly losing the energy to do so, his breath coming in shallow gasps that got smaller and smaller until he didn’t have the strength to keep breathing. His vision was blurred and his eyes slid closed against his will._

_His last thought was that this was it. This would be the time that Xyler finally killed him..._

Styler woke up with a jolt, shaking and looking around wildly from his place on the couch. It took him a moment to remember that he wasn’t there anymore. He was in the Iplier house now, under Dark’s protection. He ran a hand through his long hair and his stomach clenched.

He quickly stood up and stumbled to a nearby bathroom. He turned the light on and pulled a pair of scissors from his pocket. He began to cut away at his long hair, blindly feeling for it or looking in the mirror. He cut it into uneven patches that no doubt looked awful, but he didn’t care. He wanted the hair gone.

It would all be grown back by the next day, anyway...

Styler finally sighed heavily, gripping the edges of the sink as he tried to stop shaking. He shouldn’t feel so scared of Xyler. Xyler was gone now, and he was safe, but it seemed that Xyler was still haunting him. It wasn’t the first nightmare Styler had about his captivity...

Where had it all gone so wrong? Things had been great at first. Xyler had been nice and caring, and they’d gotten along like a real family. When had Xyler started changing? When had he started becoming what he was now?

Styler shook his head, running his hand over it to make sure he’d swept off all the cut hair. He should probably get a broom and clean up his mess. He left the bathroom and tried to think of where a broom would be-

“The Host greets Styler.”

Styler jolted in panic and spun around, intent on stabbing whomever had spoken-

He froze. It was just The Host.

The scissors were less than in inch from The Host’s face, but the other ego hadn’t so much as twitched a single muscle. Styler wondered if he even knew that Styler had scissors. He quickly moved his hand away and pocketed them.

“Um, h-hello,” he finally managed to say.

He hadn’t met The Host yet, but he’d heard about this ego. Host tended to keep to himself, but he always seemed to know everything that was happening in the house. He was Dark’s right hand man, and confidant. He was also a very powerful ego, and was not one that you wanted to anger.

“The Host apologizes for scaring Styler,” Host continued. “He often forgets how quiet he can be, and Styler seemed very preoccupied with his thoughts. The Host should have made more noise to alert Styler to his presence...”

“No!” Styler quickly shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I was just... um...”

“Styler was cutting his hair?” Host asked. “Styler did not do a very good job with it...”

“Just... trying out a new style is all,” Styler said. “It’ll grow back overnight.”

“Hmm...” Host tilted his head slightly. “The Host was hoping to speak to Styler about his brother Xyler. We are attempting to find him, but he is blocking our attempts somehow. Does Styler know if Xyler has any kind of magic that would allow him to hide in such a way?”

They were looking for Xyler? That didn’t sound good... If they were just trying to avoid him, that was one thing, but to actually look for him... it didn’t promise anything good. What would they do if they found him? Would they capture him? Kill him?

“Um... as far as I know, he doesn’t,” said Styler. “We kind of... had to figure ourselves out because we didn’t have Tyler to help us, so... we only know so much. But as far as I know, he just drains auras. He doesn’t really have any other magic. But... I could be wrong. Like I said, we had to figure things out for ourselves...”

“The Host understands...” Host tilted his head again, somehow managing to look contemplative under his bandages. “The Host thanks Styler for his help and hopes Styler feels better soon.”

“Feels...” Styler looked confused. “What do you mean?”

But Host didn’t elaborate. He was already walking off.

He needed to get back to Dark so that they could question Jameson. If Jameson had any clues as to why Xyler was staying hidden, Host and Dark needed to know. Xyler was already proving to be a massive threat, and they needed to know where he was. He needed to be contained for everyone’s safety before any egos ended up dead.


	69. The Love of a Brother

Maidthan was carrying a mop and bucket, having just finished mopping the dining room. The egos in the house sure were messy, but Maidthan liked having work to do, so he didn’t mind...

“Oh! Sorry, excuse me!” Someone bumped into him, nearly sloshing water onto the floor.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t watching... where I was... going...”

He slowly trailed off, squinting at the ego who had bumped him. It was someone who looked a lot like Benjamin, but with different clothes and mangled hair. Strange, Benjamin had said that he was the only ego of his creator. Did he not know that there were others?

“Sorry,” Maidthan shook his head. “You must be new? I’m Maidthan.”

“Styler,” the other ego smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll let you get back to work now. Sorry for almost knocking you down...”

He walked off, leaving Maidthan confused. Maybe he was a fanon ego? Was that why Benjamin didn’t know about him?

Maidthan dumped out the dirty mop water and traded the mop out for a feather duster. He thought about heading upstairs like he’d originally planned, but... he instead turned around and went to the kitchen where Benjamin was doing dishes.

“You never told me you had a brother,” Maidthan said, tilting his head.

“A brother?” Benjamin turned around, halfway through scrubbing a plate. “What do you mean? I have no family.”

“I just saw an ego who had the same face as you,” said Maidthan. _“Exactly_ like yours. He said his name was Styler.”

“Styler?” Benjamin thought for a moment. “I’ve never heard that name before. Perhaps he is a fanon ego. Master Scheid only ever had me as an ego. Still... perhaps I should go meet him. If he is truly family, then I should extend a friendly hand...”

“Go,” Maidthan pulled the yellow dish gloves off of Benjamin’s hands and began to slide them onto his own. “I’ll finish this for you. Go meet your family.”

“Thank you,” Benjamin wiped his hands with a nearby dish towel and then took a moment to smooth and straighten his hair and clothes. It was important to look one’s best for a first meeting. And Benjamin wanted to make a good first impression.

“He was heading towards the back porch,” Maidthan said as he picked up a dirty bowl. “You should be able to catch him out there.”

Benjamin nodded his thanks and then left the kitchen. He headed for the back porch, almost feeling nervous. This was his family, so he supposed it made sense to be a bit nervous about meeting them...

He pushed open the back door and looked around, spotting another ego leaning against the wooden railing. Was that him?

“Styler?” He called.

The other ego flinched and froze. When he turned to look at Benjamin, his eyes were wide and full of terror. But then after a moment, he visibly relaxed, letting his breath out in a wheeze.

“Are you ok?” Benjamin asked as he walked over. “You looked as if you saw a ghost.”

“I... I did,” Styler said. “I thought... I thought you were someone else. Sorry.”

“No harm done,” Benjamin smiled. “My name is Benjamin and I just was informed of your presence here, I apologize for not coming to meet you sooner, I had no idea you were here. I was unaware of Master Scheid having other egos.”

“Oh! Um...” Styler nervously tried to run his hand through his hair before he remembered that he’d cut it. “I think the term is ‘fanon’,” he said, lowering his hand again. “The fans created me, not Tyler.”

“I see,” Benjamin furrowed his brows. “Oh dear, whatever happened to your hair?”

“I... tried to cut it,” Styler shrugged. “It didn’t go too well.”

“Obviously,” Benjamin chuckled slightly. “I am quite skilled at cutting hair. May I fix it for you?”

Styler tensed. He was going to turn his back to Xyler-

No! No... this wasn’t Xyler. This wasn’t Xyler... he would be ok. And it wouldn’t hurt to let Benjamin try to fix the awful job he’d done...

“Um...” he dug in his pocket and pulled out his scissors. “I-If you really want to. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble...”

“It’s not,” Benjamin took the scissors and gestured for Styler to turn around. “It won’t take me long at all. Don’t worry, I’ll have you looking presentable again in no time.”

Styler slowly turned around, having to remind himself that this man was not Xyler. Benjamin’s accent did help remind him, but he still flinched when Benjamin put a hand in his hair.

“Oh, are you ok?” Benjamin asked. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-No,” Styler said. “Um... so what’s your story? I bet it’s something interesting...”

Benjamin began to tell Styler about the events of Markiplier Manor as he slowly began to even out Styler’s hair. Styler found that Benjamin’s accent really did help. It made his voice different enough, and Styler was soon calming down. The gentle touch reminded him of the old days when he’d first appeared. Back before Xyler had... had changed.

“There,” Benjamin said as he finished. He pulled a small mirror from his pocket and handed it to Styler. “Much better, don’t you think?”

Styler looked into the mirror and saw that his hair was shorter and even now. With his hair like this, he looked much more like his creator, and he would almost miss this when his hair grew back.

“Thanks,” he said. “You did a good job.”

“I take pride in my work-” Benjamin suddenly fell silent.

He’d been brushing hair from Styler’s shoulders and neck, moving the shirt collar to get it all. When he did so, he could see faded marks on Styler’s neck. Marks that looked suspiciously like finger marks...

As if someone had squeezed Styler’s neck from behind...

“Wh... what happened here?” Benjamin said, pulling the collar down to get a better look. “My god, are you ok?”

Styler flinched again, dropping the mirror as he spun around and stepped back. Damn, he knew he should have used makeup instead of relying on his shirt collar...

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

“That is not ‘nothing’,” Benjamin said, moving as if to look at the marks again. “Those... those are finger marks. Did someone hurt you?”

“It’s fine,” Styler stepped out of reach again. “Just don’t worry about it.”

“No!” Benjamin looked angry. “You are my family. If someone has hurt you, I wish to know. I wish to help you recover.”

“No one tried to hurt me-” Styler tried to argue.

“Those look like someone tried to strangle you!” Benjamin interrupted. “You cannot tell me they were not trying to hurt you.”

“He wasn’t!” Now Styler sounded angry. “He... he was just holding me still. I was struggling.”

“Struggling?” Benjamin’s eyes widened. “Struggling against who? What monster made those marks?”

“He’s not a monster,” Styler growled. “He’s... he’s family.”

“Family?” Benjamin repeated. “Family doesn’t hurt each other like that! What do you even mean, family?” his eyes widened again. “Did... is there another fanon ego? Another one of Master Scheid’s? He’s a horrible brute if he hurt you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Styler shook his head. “He’s family and he was all I had before I knew you existed. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t...” Benjamin tried to argue again, but Styler turned around and quickly walked off.

Benjamin debated on going after him, but decided against it. Styler was obviously in a mood and he would just make it worse. He’d talk to him another time when he was calmed down...

Benjamin reached down to pick up the mirror and realized he was still holding Styler’s scissors. He looked at them carefully and noticed dried blood poking out from under the handles, stuck to the blades. As if someone had tried to wash the blood away but was unable to get it all...


	70. The Author and The Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how many comments this thing has. And how we're nowhere near the end of the story yet...
> 
> A little bit of plot but mostly fluff for this chapter. Let you guys catch your breath after the last few...

“Where are you taking me?” Author asked as he followed after the dog. “We’ve been walking for... I don’t even know how long..."

The little corgi didn’t make a sound, stubby legs trotting ahead of Author, seeming to have a destination in mind. But Author was almost certain that they were going in circles. Granted, this was just a dream, so who knew?

“Are you stuck?” Author asked, trying to move faster to get closer to the dog. Every time he tried, the corgi would speed up and maintain the distance. Author had even tried full out running, but that dog could be fast when they wanted to be...

“I know I’ve been stuck in my writing before,” he sighed. “I got stuck quite a few times when I took over for you. It’s so much to keep track of, so many people to place and move around... But, it was nice to write again. It was nice to tell a story like that. I missed it so much...”

The corgi barked.

Author paused, confused. The dog hadn’t made a sound for so long, but now it barked again, sitting in the middle of the path that Author had worn into the ground. The dog tilted their head and barked again. What was it trying to say?

“You know I can’t understand you when you bark,” Author sighed. “Do you have to be this way? Can’t you just say something clearly? You always talk to The Audience so clearly-”

_“Stop.”_

Author immediately fell silent, feeling a chill run through him at the voice that had spoken. He knew that voice well, he’d heard it many times before. He'd once hated it and feared it, and his feelings hadn’t changed. This was the voice of a great and terrible deity. Someone so powerful that it was incomprehensible. Someone that could destroy the entire world, the entire universe with only a few words...

And now it was speaking to Author again.

 _“You’ve been dependent on me for so long,”_ the voice changed. It softened, it became gentler. _“Perhaps that was my fault for allowing it. But I have seen your abilities. While they are not as powerful as mine, they are still impressive. It’s time you took your place again. I will not undo Dark’s deal, but I will allow you this independence to do with as you will. But if you should choose to squander it... I will take it back, and you will be trapped under my fingers again. Do you understand?”_

Author’s eyes widened. A chance to be independent? A chance to create his own path? It was what he’d always wanted: to be free. And now the corgi was offering him that freedom...

But did he still want it?

Author was conflicted. He'd wanted that freedom for so long, but so many things had changed. He’d learned to not fear The Audience, he’d learned to not fear or hate the dog. He’d settled into his new life with feelings of hope and relief. He’d thought he was under the dog’s control, but... was it more that he was under their protection? He had seen that plenty of times. Corgi loved their characters. Corgi cared about them. Corgi may hurt them sometimes, but... what was life without a bit of pain? No one could have a perfect paradise, it was impossible... but corgi did their best.

“I... I don’t want it,” Author finally said.

 _“You... don’t?”_ The dog sounded surprised and tilted their head. _“You really don’t? But it’s all you’ve talked about for most of this story. It was a major plot point. Why do you suddenly not want it anymore?”_

The corgi moved closer until it sat at Author’s feet. Author knelt down and scratched behind their ears.

“I... I understand things now,” he said. “For so long, I thought you didn’t care about us. I thought The Audience was here to torment us. But... I’ve learned a lot of things. I’ve learned how hard it is for you to keep this world going. I’ve learned how much The Audience loves us. I... want to try this again... but without fighting it. I want to go with it. I want to stay by your side and under your protection. I want to speak to The Audience again. I... I want to try to accept things and love them instead of fighting against them. If... If you’ll let me...”

The dog nuzzled his fingers and let him pet their soft coat.

 _“If that is what you wish,”_ they said. _“I’m glad you want to repair things. This will make the future so much better... I promise.”_

“I know,” Author smiled. “I can’t wait to see what happens.”

 _“Me too,”_ the corgi laughed. _“Because I still have no idea what will happen.”_

“Wait, what?” Author’s eyes widened.

 _“It’s time to wake up now,”_ the corgi turned around and scampered off. _“Good luck!”_

The Author woke up in his hospital bed with a gasp.

He slowly sat up and looked around, seeing the other beds were empty. How long had he been asleep?

“Author,” Dr. Iplier came out of his office and smiled. “Good to see you awake again. You gave us all quite the scare exhausting yourself like that. Maybe next time you can take a few breaks when you’re writing a story, huh?”

“Writing a story...” Author repeated. Ah, so it wasn’t that long at all. “Is everyone ok? Everyone who was affected?”

“Yep,” Dr. Iplier grabbed Author’s wrist to take his pulse. “Everyone seems to be ok now. Of course, we’ll see how long that lasts. I swear some of the egos here have no common sense...”

“Well it’s not their fault,” Author grinned. “When Mark was creating us, he gave you and Dark all the brain cells and then had none to give the rest of us...”

Dr. Iplier chuckled.

“Sometimes I really think that’s the case,” he said. “How are you feeling? Your vitals were looking good while you were asleep.”

“Better,” said Author. “Much better. Um... wasn’t Jacques in here too?”

“Oh I cleared him after a day of rest,” said Dr. Iplier. “He should be out there somewhere. He came in quite a few times to visit you, though. Even brought you flowers.”

“Well, I should go see him and thank him,” Author got out of bed and blinked, staring at the floor.

For a moment, he could swear he saw paw prints on the tile...


	71. The Hero is Given a Choice

Jackie opened his eyes to find himself in a dark room.

He was sitting in a chair with a single light bulb hung from the ceiling above him. The rest of the room... of the void... was pitch black.

Jackie looked around and could swear he saw figures moving in the dark. Just outside the edges of the light, he could swear something was moving around. He could almost hear it. It seemed to alternate between claws scraping at the floor and footsteps.

The noises were behind him and grew louder and louder until they stopped.

_“Hello, Jackie.”_

Jackie flinched. That voice sounded masculine, and it was right behind him. He tried to turn and look, but his body was frozen. He could only strain his eyes in his attempt to look while the rest of his body stayed still.

 _“Don’t be afraid,”_ now the voice sounded feminine. _“You have done nothing to displease me, and so I am not angry with you. I only wanted to talk.”_

Jackie felt his heartbeat pick up and his breathing came a bit faster now. It was like something from a nightmare. Being frozen in place while someone was right behind you. Unable to move and see who it was. Unable to get up and run should the need arise.

 _“You will not need to run,”_ the voice said. _“Not yet, at least.”_

Jackie took a deep breath and wet his lips.

“Who are you?” He asked. “Where am I?”

 _“I am the one who holds the pen,”_ the voice changed again. _“I am the one who types the words. I am nothing... and I am everything. And you are right where I need you to be. You are right where I put you...”_

“I...” Jackie’s voice faltered. “I-I don’t understand.”

It was all so surreal, like something from one of the comics he had read before. The hero tied up and at the mercy of an unseen villain-

_“Oh? You think of me as a villain?”_

Jackie’s eyes widened. They could hear his thoughts?

 _“I am the one who_ gives _you your thoughts,”_ the voice changed again. _“Of course I can hear them. And you don’t understand because I’ve yet to make you. I haven’t written anything that says that you understand what I mean...”_

Written? They sounded like The Author...

The voice chuckled, sounding amused.

“Why am I here?” Jackie asked out loud.

He wasn’t hurt yet, but he wasn’t in a good position either. He needed to figure out what was going on so that he could free and get out of here. Whoever this person was, they didn’t sound like someone good...

 _“I told you,”_ the voice changed again, sounding as if it were the previous two voices speaking again. _“I wanted to talk to you.”_

Jackie felt a hand on his shoulder. The touch was gentle enough, but Jackie couldn’t help but feel as if this person could do a lot of damage if they wanted to.

 _“I am regretting a few things that I have written,”_ said the voice. _“And I am simply trying to iron out a few other things to make sure everything keeps going smoothly. I’ve already been derailed a few times because one or two of you went against me. And you... you’re quite the fighter. I have worries that you might be next...”_

The next to what? Go against who? What was this voice talking about? Jackie tried to glance down to see the hand on his shoulder, but he still couldn’t move enough to see. He sighed heavily, starting to feel annoyed.

 _“The Audience,”_ said the voice. _“You can see them. You weren’t supposed to keep this ability, and yet you did. That goes against what I had planned. But... I am adaptable. Things can be changed as long as they have yet to be written. But before I do that, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to keep this ability...”_

“The Audience,” Jackie said softly. He remembered what Wilford had told him. “They... they’re not bad, right? Th-they told me so. They like us. They... they say nice things...”

 _“For now,”_ said the voice. _“But an audience can turn against you if you’re not careful. If_ I _am not careful. The Audience can influence this world more than they think. They can cause me to keep going... or they can cause me to stop. And if I stop... well, the results are never pleasant.”_

And suddenly... everything clicked. Jackie’s eyes grew wide and he gasped loudly, fear and terror rolling through his stomach. He'd figured it out. He knew. He knew who he was talking to.

“You... you’re the one writing the story!” He said. “You’re... Wilford mentioned you. He-he told me about... about how everything is.... h-he... he told me...”

 _“Because I wanted him to tell you,”_ the voice said. _“You deserved to know. But I offer you a deal. I can take away the knowledge that was given to you. I can take away your ability to see The Audience. I can put you back as you were before, blissfully ignorant. If you so wish it...”_

Jackie paused. This sounded like a strange deal...

“Why are you offering?” He asked.

 _“Author made Wilford tell a bunch of people, and I don’t want to many people knowing about me,”_ said the voice. “ _So when I went to check on everyone... I plucked that knowledge from their heads. So now, only Author and Wilford really know me. There are others who have various levels of knowledge about The Audience, but no one else knows about me... except for you. If you want to count yourself among my ranks, I will welcome you with open arms. But if you want to go back to the way things were before... I can do that too...”_

Jackie suddenly had a funny thought.

“This... this sounds like The Matrix...” he chuckled.

There was a pause... and then the voice chuckled too.

 _“Oh wow, it does,”_ it said. _“I just realized that...”_

Jackie thought about the offer. Things were good before, but... he’d always wanted to do more. To be able to do more. Maybe... maybe this knowledge wouldn’t be so bad? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk to this... author... person... thing. Maybe... he could see how things went and then change his mind later?

 _“You can change your mind later if you choose,”_ said the voice. _“I am not cruel.”_

“I... I want to keep this knowledge,” Jackie finally said. “I want to see where this goes.”

 _“Very well,”_ said the voice. _“Just remember this...”_

The hand on his shoulder tightened, the grip now firm but not painfully so.

 _“Never..._ ever _... forget who I am,”_ said the voice. _“Never forget what I do. Never try to rebel against me... I am not a cruel author, but I will not tolerate mutiny. I promise you... I will not lead you into misery or death. You can trust me.”_

Jackie could. He really felt as if he could. He nodded wordlessly, showing that he understood. The grip on his shoulder loosened and then there were footsteps again.

 _“It’s time to wake up now,”_ the voice was fading. _“Good luck.”_

Jackie woke up in bed, sunlight streaming through the window. He slowly sat up and sighed, hoping that he had made the right choice. He pulled back the blankets and frowned.

There was dog fur on the floor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't believe Author didn't take my offer. I was really expecting him to...


	72. The Drawing on the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious about the beginning of this chapter, it's a sort of continuation of Chapter 30 of my Stray Drabbles.

Dawktrap shuddered as he left his room. That... had been too creepy, and Dawktrap had seen plenty of creepy things in other worlds... To think that there existed another version of himself that was like that. But it made him curious to know if perhaps there were other versions of other egos out there...

“The Host greets Dawktrap.”

Dawktrap actually cried out at that. It was one thing to be taken by surprise, it was another for it to be The Host, of all egos, after what he had just seen...

“Hey,” Dawktrap pressed a hand to his chest, aura spasming and glitching slightly. “Wh... what can I do you for?”

Host tilted his head curiously.

“Is Dawktrap ok?” He asked. “He looks as though he’s seen a ghost...”

Dawktrap chuckled nervously, feeling a shiver run down his spine. This was too creepy. All he could see was his other self with those bloody bandages and creepy grin...

“Of course I am,” he finally said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Host was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“The Host was hoping for Dawktrap’s assistance,” he said. “The Host has been having strange visions. Since Dawktrap has experience with other worlds and realities, The Host was hoping that Dawktrap might be able to help make sense of them.”

Host slowly moved forward as he spoke until he had Dawktrap pinned against his door. Dawktrap nervously swallowed. Host was as tall as he was, but he was built much broader than Dawktrap’s lanky frame. Combined with his mannerisms and those bandages, he could be very intimidating at times...

“Visions?” Dawktrap repeated. “What kind?”

Host slowly looked up at the drawings on Dawktrap’s door. Most were of bears and rabbits and ducks and foxes, but one stood out from the others. Host reached up and plucked the drawing from the door, bringing it down to show Dawktrap.

“What does Dawktrap know about this?” Host asked.

The drawing was of a group of shadowy beings. The only thing distinguishable about them was their eyes.

“Them?” Dawktrap asked. “Those are my followers.”

“Followers?” Host repeated. “... A cult?”

“No, it’s not a cult,” Dawktrap rolled his eyes. “It’s a gathering of like minded individuals who want to listen to what I have to say and shower me in love and adoration.”

It was almost scary how well The Host could still do a deadpan look with no eyes. He did one at Dawktrap’s words, causing the glitch to scratch at the back of his head.

“Ok, maybe it’s kind of... cultish,” Dawktrap muttered. “But, that’s who the people in that drawing are. My followers.”

“Tell The Host about them,” Host said, moving even closer.

“Um...” Dawktrap was now pressed firmly against his door. “I-I was actually about to go and-”

Host began muttering softly, and Dawktrap’s door quickly opened. Dawktrap felt himself turn around and walk back into his room.

“Ay!” He said, struggling to stop. Host said nothing as he followed Dawktrap into his room, closing the door behind him.

“Wilford!” Jackie pounded on the door to Wilford’s room. “Wilford, open up!”

After a few tense moments, the door opened. Wilford yawned and looked at Jackie in confusion. It was his day off from the studio so he usually liked to sleep in. Anyone who woke him up often got a few bullets fired at them for their trouble, but Wilford had to admit he had a bit of a soft spot for Jackie.

So the gun stayed on his bedside table.

“Jackie?” Wilford scratched at his white and pink striped pajamas. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you,” Jackie said. “Please?”

Wilford’s mustache twitched as he frowned, but he moved back and let Jackie into his room. Jackie looked around with wide eyes. Wilford’s room was enormous. It had its own private balcony with large windows to let the sunlight in. The carpet was incredibly plush, the furniture all looked to be stylish antiques, and the bed had silky pink sheets and a matching canopy with curtains.

Wilford gestured to one of the arm chairs that sat by the fireplace in the corner. Jackie sat down and Wilford yawned again as he joined him, securing the belt of a pink robe.

“What did you need to talk about?” Wilford asked.

“I... they spoke to me,” Jackie said. “The... the person who’s writing the story. The person you told me about!”

Wilford’s eyes widened in surprise. He was not expecting this.

“They spoke to you?” He repeated. “Are you sure? Maybe you were just dreaming...”

“I was dreaming,” said Jackie. “They came to me in my dream. I couldn’t move or see them, I could only hear their voice. They offered to take away my knowledge of all of this and put me back as I was before. They told me... to never try to rebel against them. And to be careful of The Audience...”

Well that didn’t sound good. It almost sounded ominous. It would have if Wilford didn’t already have such a strong connection to The Audience. He hadn’t heard anything bad from them lately.

“Why do you need to be careful of The Audience?” He asked.

“They... wait, do they have a name?” Jackie asked. “It’s weird calling them ‘them’ all the time...”

“I don’t know their name,” Wilford shrugged. “I just call them The Corgi.”

Jackie blinked.

“Why...?” He asked.

“You’ll probably see later,” Wilford mused. “Especially if they’re speaking to you.”

“Well... anyway,” Jackie shook his head. “They said The Audience can turn against us. And they have more power than we thought. They can make them stop writing, and they said it’s bad if they do that...”

“I can imagine it would be,” Wilford said. “So we need to worry about The Audience? But they’ve always been supportive before. Why would they change?”

“I dunno,” Jackie shrugged. “I’m confused by everything as it is, I was hoping you might be able to figure this out...”

“I’ve been told to be careful of The Audience before,” Wilford mused. “But that was a long time ago. We already have that other ego to worry about. If we have to worry about The Audience too... it’ll certainly make things much more difficult...”

Jackie nervously ran a hand through his hair. He’d only known about all this for a short amount of time when compared to Wilford’s knowledge. Wilford always seemed to know things that others didn’t, and he always acted as if it were no big deal.

“What do we do if The Audience turns against us?” He quietly asked. “Or if they stop writing?”

Wilford gave him a look that looked far too serious for his face.

“We pray that our deaths will be quick,” he said.


	73. ????

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to help you guys out by making a list of the people who have knowledge about you

Wilford- Wilford knows everything. He knows about The Audience, he knows that he’s a character in the story, he knows about The Corgi. Wilford has the ability to speak to The Audience and The Corgi directly. He mostly doesn’t interfere too much except to make a comment or two or to pose questions to The Audience.

Author- He also knows everything. He also has the ability to speak to The Corgi and The Audience directly. He can also influence the story by using his words and has done so in the past. He can only do so if The Corgi is cut off somehow, or if The Corgi allows him to. He also has a deep knowledge of the story itself as in its structure and what happens when chapters do not update. He also knows what will happen if the story is never finished. He can tell when days are looping due to know updates.

Jackie- The newbie that doesn’t quite _know_ everything. He is _aware_ of everything, but his knowledge is surface level at best. He can speak to The Audience directly, but not The Corgi.

Paranormal aka Pi- He knows that there are beings out there that people cannot normally see. He does not know who they are or what they are. He just calls them The Unseen. He can see them, and he can now hear them, but he hasn’t done much with them yet. He does not know anything about The Corgi or The Story.

Devil Mark- He also knows that there are beings out there that people cannot normally see. He also does not know who or what they are. He calls them The Unfortunate and really only sees them as people to make deals with. He does not know anything about The Corgi or The Story.

Dawktrap- He knows that there are other realities out there, but he doesn’t know about The Audience or anything else. He only knows about his followers and he can only speak to them with his headset.

Darkiplier- He knows about the DA being a vessel for other beings, but he does not know who or what those other beings are. Celine knows a bit more because she was the one who studied the phenomenon, but none of them know about The Audience, The Corgi, or The Story.

Jacques- He knows about a corgi that gives him dreams, but that’s it. He does not know about The Audience, who the corgi is, or The Story. He doesn’t really care to learn either.

Emile- He knows about The Audience and who they are, but he calls them The Viewers. He does not know about The Corgi or The Story.

Actor- He knew about the Audience and he could speak to them, but he did not know about The Story or The Corgi.


	74. The Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even realize how much time had passed since my last update...

“A cult?” Dark narrowed his eyes.

“A cult,” Host nodded.

“It’s not a c-” Dawktrap’s protest was silenced by Dark’s glare. He tried to take a step back, but Host was right next to him and preventing him from moving back any amount of space. Dawktrap instead swallowed heavily while his aura cowered behind him. The pink and purple Glitchtrap silhouette shook and almost looked as if it were trying to hide behind him.

“First that black and white parade of asinine behavior that bordered on childish...” Dark said. “And now you. Pray tell... how did this cult get started? And how do we disband it?”

“Disband it?” Dawktrap squawked.

“Cults bring nothing but trouble,” Dark said. “And I have enough to worry about. While you live here, you will not lead any cults. You will disband this cult today.”

“Well...” Dawktrap dragged out the word, looking nervous. “I don’t think there’s really a way to disband it. See... my followers are from another reality, and they’ve all decided to follow me for some reason or other. There’s not really anything to disband, and even if I tried they would still follow me. So I can’t really do what you’re asking.”

“I’m sure we can find a way,” Dark said, form splitting slightly. “Perhaps Host can help you.”

Dawktrap felt a wave of ice wash down his spine. He didn’t want to think about the effect that Host’s powers would have on his followers. Could they even be affected in the same way? He did not want to find out.

“I-I’m sure we don’t need-” He tried to backpedal.

“Good,” Dark smiled. “I’m glad you’ve agreed to disband this cult through your own means. And you _will_ disband it. If Host comes back to me with more visions about your followers and I find out you did not disband them... you will not like the consequences.”

“Now hang on,” Dawktrap frowned, getting angry. “Why is this even such a big deal? What suddenly changed to make this such a problem?”

“Host had a vision of your followers,” said Dark. “Of the power that they hold.”

“There will come a day when a decision will need to be made,” said Host. “A very important one that will have far reaching consequences. The decision will be given to a group of people that Dawktrap’s followers are part of.”

“And this is a problem... why?” Dawktrap asked.

“The Host cannot See what the decision is,” said Host. “So he does not know what will result from it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Dawktrap shouted. His aura glowed brightly, no longer cowering. “You want me to abandon my followers because of some decision that may not even be a bad one? That’s rubbish!”

“My word is final,” Dark didn’t so much as flinch. “You will disband them and cease all contact. Otherwise, you can find somewhere else to live.”

Dawktrap’s rage caused him to glitch a few times. After a tense moment, he turned around and stormed out of Dark’s office.

“That utter knob!” He hissed to himself as he walked down the stairs. “He really thinks he can tell me to abandon my followers? He really thinks I’ll actually listen and obey? He’s completely lost the plot if he believes that for even a minute.”

He glanced back at his aura, a grin blooming across his face.

“We’ll have to be careful,” he said. “We can’t let them find out. But I’ll abandon my followers on the same day that dear Mr. Afton is awarded Father of the Year. I’ll just have to be sneaky about it...”

Paranormal’s hands had finally healed... so he was right back to trying new ways to hear The Unseen. Dr. Iplier had given him a stern talking to, and Paranormal had told him that he would try to be more careful. Of course the word ‘try’ gave him the loophole he needed.

Rain worked, but what else could he use? Rain already showed that it was very difficult to create and control, so Paranormal would need something else.

He was sitting in one of the bathrooms, sink and shower both going with the temperature and pressure switched as high as they would go. The room was steadily being filled with steam, causing an uncomfortable layer of condensation to form on every surface. So far, the steam didn’t seem to be working. It was far too cloudy for him to see anything, and the steam on the mirror was the same. He sighed heavily as he opened the door and left.

Dawktrap had been right outside, and he recoiled at the gush of steam that poured from the door. Already, he could feel it start clinging to his vest and shirt.

“Holy cupcakes!” He waved the steam away. “What were you doing in there? Boiling a lobster?”

“Trying to communicate with The Unseen,” said Paranormal. “I can see them, but I cannot hear them. I want to be able to hear them clearly. And I want to be able to do so without burning my hands...”

“Wait, they’re called The Unseen?” Dawktrap asked.

“Yes,” Paranormal nodded.

“But... you can see them,” said Dawktrap. “So... they’re not... unseen...”

Paranormal was silent for a few moments.

“Regardless,” he said. “I’m trying to find a way to hear them. So far only rain has produced any results...”

“What do they even look like?” Dawktrap had to admit he was curious. He'd seen creatures from other realities, after all...

Paranormal switched on the bathroom sink and then took the water to create a flat layer. The water acted as a window and showed a group of shadowy beings. Dawktrap blinked a few times, reaching out to touch the water.

“Hang on...” he said. “They... they’re not my followers... but they’re from the same reality. How are you able to see into another reality like I can if you don’t use a headset?”

“I am one who can slip between the planes of existence,” Paranormal said. “I can see between the cracks of this world and the next with the aid of... water.”

“So... what are they?” Dawktrap asked.

“They are The Unseen,” said Paranormal.

“No, what _are_ they?” Dawktrap asked. “Like... are they spirits? Are they people? Are they... cryptids of some kind?”

“I’m not sure,” Paranormal shrugged. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of some of Host’s books about the supernatural, but he refuses to let me borrow any. I... once dropped one of his books into a puddle of water.”

“Ouch,” Dawktrap made a face. “And he won’t be lending any to me after the meeting we had today. So... we need to either find books from someone else... or bribe someone else to borrow them from the Host for us.”

“If we bribe someone and Host finds out... he will be very displeased,” said Paranormal.

“Sometimes a little risk is worth it,” Dawktrap smiled. “After all... if you listen to my song, it was a risk what created me...”


	75. The Library Books

Author sighed in relief. It was a new day. The looping had stopped.

That had taken longer than he would have liked. Still, he wasn’t going to complain as he was finally free to do something different now. He checked the common room just to make sure. Robbie was there watching television with S34N like always, but today Anti and Jameson were in there too. They were watching something different too.

Yes, the loop was well and truly over.

“Author!”

Author flinched and jerked back as Dawktrap suddenly glitched into existence right in front of him. Dawktrap's aura manifested and pat Author’s head in a calming manner, causing some of his hair to stand up from the static electricity.

“Sorry about the fright,” Dawktrap said. “I was hoping to ask you for a favor...”

“A... a favor?” Author bat at the aura’s paws, and Dawktrap’s aura faded. “What kind of favor?”

“Pi and I are trying to do some research, but Host has the books we need,” Dawktrap explained. “You and Host are close, right? Think you could ask him for the books for us?”

“Why can’t you or Pi ask?” Author narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Well, Host won’t let Pi borrow books ever since Pie got one of the books wet,” said Dawktrap. “And Host and I aren’t really talking right now. We had a disagreement. Please? We really need those books.”

Author thought it over for a moment. He supposed there was no harm in it. It’s not like Pi and Dawktrap could do much with a few books.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally said. “But I can’t guarantee anything. Which books were you needing?”

“Anything about cryptids or spirits or alternate realities,” said Dawktrap. “Use any excuse you like, just don’t tell him the books are for us.”

“Fine,” said Author. “But you owe me. You have to make me a pizza and some cupcakes because the ones you make are really delicious and I want some.”

“Done,” Dawktrap laughed. “Pizza and cupcakes. I’ll make them this weekend. I’ll need to wait until Dr. Iplier goes shopping again to get the ingredients anyway...”

Author would hold him to that.

Author waited until later in the day when he knew that Host would be in his office. He knocked on the door and then waited.

“Come in, Author,” Host called from within.

“How did you know it was me?” Author asked as he opened the door and walked inside. “I thought your powers didn’t work on me.”

“They don’t,” Host smiled. “But The Host knew it was The Author _because_ The Host could not see who it was.”

“Ah,” Author chuckled. “Makes sense. I hope I’m not interrupting, but I was hoping to borrow some of your books.”

“The Author wishes to borrow The Host’s books?” Host tilted his head curiously.

“I’m doing research for a story,” said Author. “I’m needing to research cryptids, alternate worlds, and spirits. Stuff like that.”

“Sounds like a very interesting story,” Host smiled. “The Host hopes The Author will share the story with him when it is finished.”

“Of course,” Author said. “I just have to write it first, and we all know how much a chore that is...”

The Host chuckled again and began muttering under his breath. A small stack of books suddenly appeared on his desk.

“The Host believes that these books will help The Author,” he said. “Please treat them with care, they are old.”

“You know me,” Author picked up the stack. “I may be a bit rough sometimes, but never with a book.”

“The Host knew The Author would understand,” said Host. “Please let The Host know if any other books are needed. The Host is happy to share.”

“Thanks, Host,” Author said. “You’re a real life saver...”

“Good day, Author,” Host said. “The Host wishes the best of luck with the story...”

His smile remained in place until Author left, then it shifted into a suspicious frown...

“You got them!” Dawktrap picked up one of the books. “Yes, these will do nicely...”

“What do you need them for, anyway?” Author asked.

“We’re trying to figure out what The Unseen are,” said Pi.

“The what?” Author asked, sitting on the nearby couch.

“The Unseen,” Pi said. “Figures made of shadows that can only be seen by a few. Apparently, Dawktrap says they’re in the same realm as his followers. I wonder if they’re related somehow. Maybe in the same circle at least...”

Author perked up. Dawktrap and Pi could see shadowy beings? Author knew very well, what they were talking about... but he hadn’t been given clearance to tell anyone else. How were they able to see The Audience? Why did they not know who The Audience was?

“What... what do these beings do?” He asked, curious to see what they knew.

“Nothing really,” Pi shrugged. “They just sort of stand there. I’m still working on finding ways to communicate with them.”

“The ones I see are my followers,” said Dawktrap. “We talk every now and then, but we don’t do much else. They all just love to adore me.”

Ah, so they really did have no idea who they were looking at. But if Pi managed to find a way to communicate with them... would they spill the beans? Author didn’t like the idea of Pi finding out who he was speaking to...

While Dawktrap and Pi were busy with their own books, Author quickly scanned the pile and removed two books from it. He then shoved them between the couch cushions, hiding them from view. They were the only two in the stack about alternate realities, and he hoped that Pi and Dawktrap wouldn’t learn much without them. He really should have asked more questions before going to The Host, but there wasn’t much more he could do now.

He needed to speak to the corgi about this...

It was later that Dawktrap decided to go back to his room. It was time for him to see his followers again. Like hell was he going to just abandon them to appease Dark’s paranoia. Maybe if he showed Dark that they were harmless, Dark would back off.

He shook his head and opened his bedroom door. He flipped on the light as he walked in and closed the door behind him. He cracked his back with a sigh, having spent the afternoon pouring over books with Pi. They hadn’t learned what they wanted, but there were still a few books they had to read over. Maybe they would find something there.

Dawktrap walked over to his desk... and his eyes widened in horror.

His headset was gone...


	76. The Argument that Got out of Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to research British insults as well as Dawko's videos to see if he swears or not.

Dark was expecting it. He was ready for it.

His office doors suddenly exploded off their hinges in a wave of purple and pink sparks. Electricity crackled loudly in wide arcs, and a heavily glitching Dawktrap stood in the middle of it all. Dawktrap growled as he entered the office, eyes glowing with fury. His aura towered over the room behind him, form glitching as much as he was.

“You tosser!” Dawktrap shouted. “You absolute bellend! You’re the most _infuriating_ man I have ever met! You’re even worse than _William bloody Afton!”_

He stormed up to Dark’s desk, pushing aside the chairs that sat in front of it. Dark looked unimpressed with Dawktrap’s actions, calmly regarding him with steepled fingers.

Dark knew what he was doing when he made his decision. He knew what the consequences of his actions would be, and he was willing to deal with them as they unfolded. Dawktrap had an impressive wrath, but he wasn’t as powerful as Dark was. Dark could easily kill him if he was ever inclined to do so...

“You will give it back to me right now,” Dawktrap hissed as he slammed his palms against Dark’s desk.

His body was twitching and glitching from his rage, and his eyes had never been brighter. He was tempted to draw his knife, to fight Dark, to do _something._ Anything to get his headset back. He needed his headset. It had been bad enough to not have it during the time that it didn’t work. He'd nearly cried in relief when it started working again...

“I told you to disband your cult,” said Dark. “And only two days later, Host tells me that you are still communicating with them. Not only that, but you fooled Author into helping you. Why do you need Host’s books? What are you up to?”

“It is not a cult!” Dawktrap roared. “Stop calling it that! And I am not going to just abandon them! They’ve been here with me through everything! Through good times and bad! I care for them!”

“Regardless of whether or not you care for them, Host says they are potentially dangerous,” said Dark. “Until something happens that proves otherwise, or until I can trust you, you are not getting your headset back.”

“That headset is a core part of me!” Dawktrap argued. “I need it! It’s the most important thing I own!”

“You can survive a little time without it,” said Dark. “Stop being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?!” Dawktrap’s voice had risen to high pitched hysteria. _“Dramatic?!_ Are you really this daft? Why don’t I steal a part of you and we’ll see how long you live without it. Huh? How about I rip out your heart or your lungs? How long will you live then?”

“The headset is not the same as a heart or pair of lungs,” Dark folded his arms. “You’re still breathing and you’re still alive.”

Dawktrap’s eye twitched... and then he promptly tossed Dark’s desk aside. Dark remained calm as the flurry of papers whirled around him and the desk slammed into the wall. True, Dawktrap was taller than him, but Dark didn’t get to where he was today by rolling over and showing his belly. He’d faced down egos worse than Dawktrap. Egos that were far more powerful...

“This is your last chance!” Dawktrap snarled. “Tell me where it is, or I will tear this house apart and find it myself! I am not letting you keep it just because you're paranoid over something that isn’t even a threat to begin with!”

“Look at this from my perspective!” Dark narrowed his eyes. “Host told me that the people you speak to are powerful enough to alter the very world we live in. They will be called upon to make a decision that will change everything! I have no idea who they are or what they will do, and from the sound of things, you don’t know what will happen either! I am trying to keep everyone safe until I get more information! Until I hear something that proves the other beings are not a threat, your headset will stay in my possession, and that’s all there is to it. You can either deal with it, or you can leave!”

And it was right at that moment that Dawktrap snapped...

A rumble shook the house, causing the egos to glance around worriedly. A few of them commented on it, wondering if they were experiencing some kind of earthquake. A few of the others recognized it for what it was and immediately began to herd everyone to their rooms and to safety. Wilford was one of them, keeping watch as a few minor egos ran past him to lock themselves in their room.

“Host!” He called out. “What’s happened?”

Host was silent as the rest of the egos emptied out of the hallway, leaving Host and Wilford alone. Host looked troubled, mouth pressed into a grim line.

“The Host is regretting his actions,” he finally said. “Darkiplier has pushed Dawktrap too far.”

Another rumble shook the house, and Wilford sighed.

“Those two,” he said softly. “Host... end it now before it gets bad. I’ll go get them.”

“The Host will try,” Host said. “Wilford Warfstache should hurry.”

Wilford made his way upstairs, already hearing the yelling and crashing coming from Dark’s office. The crashing suddenly stopped, and he heard Dark loudly curse. When Wilford made it to the office, he folded his arms and looked at the two egos within it.

Dawktrap and Dark were both frozen from Host’s power. They both struggled, and Dark looked as if he might be able to actually get free. Dawktrap tried to move, but his body refused. His arm stayed reared back, knife gripped in a hand that refused to open and let go. Dark was in a similar position, his aura struggling against Host’s powers as well, ready to engulf Dawktrap...

Wilford summoned his magic, and a thick pink smoke flowed into the office. Dawktrap and Dark coughed against the sickly sweet scent, and they slowly began to go limp.

“Wilford!” Dark hissed. “Wilford don’t... don’t you dare...”

Host’s magic vanished, and both egos fell to the floor, knocked out by Wilford’s magic. Wilford sighed again as he looked around. The office was completely trashed. Furniture was in pieces, broken glass littered the floor, papers were torn. Host could put it all back together again, but still.

Something needed to be done soon before things got out of hand again...


	77. ????

I have a confession to make to all my puppers.

The relationship between an author and the readers, or in this case The Audience, is a very interesting concept. On the one hand, some authors don’t really pay attention to who is reading or what they are saying, and on the other, some authors pay very close attention and even let those words influence them.

Audiences often don’t have a lot of power, if any... but some audiences can be very powerful indeed. You all keep trying to reassure the characters that you’re no threat and that you have no power.

Puppers... you don’t realize just how powerful you are in terms of these stories.

The way I describe the two stories in the Strays verse is this: the first story was for the fandom as a whole... but this second story is for The Audience.

I wanted to write more for you because you all said such wonderful things about the first story and really liked it. So many of you held on until the very end and were there to celebrate the deaths of Unus and Annus and see The Actor get his just desserts.

Your comments fueled the story and drove me to keep going until it was finished. Do you know how rare it is for me to finish a story, let alone one that was that big? Go back through my other works and see how many multichapter stories are completed.

On top of that, a lot of you influenced how the story would go by voting on what would happen to our dear Author and in other ways as it was being written. And T_WolfXD? You influenced one of the characters. Dawktrap was only supposed to be a fun reference because I had just started watching Dawko’s videos. But your immense love for him made me change my mind and include him as a major character.

In this story in particular, I wanted to explore the relationship between author and audience. I wanted to include you guys even more and show you just how powerful an audience can be. An audience can keep a story going, and in some cases they can end a story. So much can hang on the words of an audience, and The Audience rarely realizes that.

But I am telling you now. With this story... you are all very powerful. Your _words_ are very powerful. So make sure you know how you wish to use this power...


	78. The Colonel Quells the Uproar

“It’s a sad day when _I’m_ the mature one,” Wilford said, glancing between Dawktrap and Dark. “Granted, I’m sure this won’t last long. I can only hope you’re both thinking clearly again when it ends...”

Dawktrap had the decency to look a bit guilty, but he still cast glares at Dark. Dark didn’t look apologetic at all, seeming annoyed at it all. He almost looked like a child that was angry at being scolded. Host sat off to the side. His expression was neutral, but he sat in a way that kept everyone within his range of Sight without having to turn his head too much.

“Why were you two fighting?” Wilford asked.

“He took my headset!” Dawktrap pointed at Dark. “I told him to give it back, but he refuses to!”

“He’s using that headset to speak to some strange mysterious beings,” said Dark. “Host said these beings are powerful and could be a threat. I’m just trying to keep everyone safe until I get some kind of confirmation that these beings are _not_ a threat.”

Wilford narrowed his eyes slightly as he glanced at Dawktrap. Could Dawktrap see The Audience too? The corgi had never mentioned him as being part of the ranks, but maybe this was new. He’d have to talk to Dawktrap about it later.

Wilford sighed and folded his arms.

“You both know there are rules in this house that prohibit fighting like that,” he said. “You are both very powerful. What if your fight had spilled out and injured or even killed someone?”

“I would not have let it get that bad,” Dark frowned. “I’m not some mindless animal. I would have kept it in the office.”

“Dark,” Wilford tried to say.

“This whole thing started because he refused to do as I asked,” Dark growled.

“Dark...”

“If he would have just _listened_ to me,” Dark raised his voice. “This would have never happened-”

 _“Dark!”_ Wilford slammed his hand against the desk.

Dark’s mouth snapped shut, and the other two egos flinched. It was moments like this that Dark was reminded that Wilford Warfstache had once been Colonel William Barnum. He had once led men into battle. He had once commanded respect and admiration among his peers. And these days, it seemed that Wilford may have lost the memories of his former self, but not his spirit...

Wilford held Dark’s gaze for a moment before his eyes subtly shifted as if to glance at something behind him. Host perked up from his chair, turning his face completely in Wilford’s direction.

“Wilford Warfstache knows something,” he said. “He knows about the shadow beings.”

“What?” Dark’s eyes widened slightly. “Wilford... is this true?”

Wilford was silent for a moment, and Dawktrap’s eyes widened too. So Wilford knew about them too? But how did he see them? Dawktrap had his headset, Pi had his water... what did Wilford use? And even more important, how much did he know?

“There are some things that I am not at liberty to discuss,” Wilford finally said. “I have been asked to keep silent about this. I may be a raving lunatic and a murderer... but I keep my oaths. You know that better than anyone, Dark.”

“I don’t understand,” Dark said. “Who is asking you to keep quiet? Who are these shadow beings everyone is speaking about? What is...”

He trailed off, suddenly remembering something.

The DA.

The vessel.

Celine had done research about such phenomena. Were these shadow beings the same that had looked through the DA’s eyes? Is that why Wilford knew about them? But then what about Dawktrap? Unless... Dawktrap had come across them by accident with his headset...

“You knew about this, and you never told me?” Dark said out loud. “You never told me about this potential threat?”

“Dark...” Wilford said gently, “we have known each other for decades. We have been through so much together. Have I ever given you a reason to not trust me?”

Dark was silent for a moment.

“No,” he finally said. “No, you haven’t.”

“If I am ever able to explain things to you, I will,” said Wilford. “But I cannot now. You will have to trust me when I tell you that these beings do not currently pose a threat. If Host is having visions, then maybe they will one day, but letting Dawktrap talk to them now is not going to bring about the end of the world. Give him back his headset.”

Wilford may not be one to follow any sort of rules, but to him... the corgi’s word was law. They had gone through the trouble and energy to erase everyone’s memories save for Jackie. If they ever decided to bring Dark or Host into the fold, Wilford would happily be the one to explain everything. Until then, Wilford would keep his mouth shut and he would strive to keep order.

Dark glared and gave a low growl, but Wilford did not seem fazed. Dark then sighed and summoned his aura. He reached inside it and pulled out Dawktrap’s headset.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” Dark said as he handed it over to Dawktrap.

“I rarely do,” said Wilford. “That’s how I know when I am.”

After the meeting, Host found himself unsure.

His visions told him that these beings were powerful and they could alter the course of their world if they were so given the chance, and they would be given that chance in the future. It made them seem like a terrible threat.

And yet...

Wilford knew much more about them, it seemed. And wasn’t afraid of them at all. Who were these beings? What was their purpose? How did Wilford know so much about them? He would have to ask for those books back. Maybe they had information...

After the meeting, Dark found himself in the attic.

He pushed and shoved at heavy dusty boxes and trunks, digging through them with a careful eye. Celine had taken a few things with her when she’d divorced The Actor, namely her collection of books on the occult. Dark had stored them here along with some other possessions of hers.

He opened another trunk and smiled when he saw it was full of books. Yes, this was it! There had to be some connection between what Dawktrap saw and what he had seen with the DA. If he could figure that out, then maybe it would help him figure out what these beings were exactly...


	79. The Ego in the Gift Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter...
> 
> Also, I think it's cute how you guys are building a nest in the comments and getting along so well. XD

“Was it really necessary to make me get a picture taken with Alice and the Mad Hatter?” Madpat asked as he and Shawn walked from the bus stop to their hotel. Shawn was munching on a Mickey shaped pretzel while Madpat had his hands full with their bags of shopping.

“Of course,” Shawn held up Madpat’s pretzel so that the other could take a bite. “You didn’t _really_ think I was going to pass up that chance, huh?”

“I guess I should have expected it,” Madpat said as he chewed his bite of pretzel.

“Besides, we’re going home tomorrow,” said Shawn. “I wanted to have as many memories as possible. Something to remind you of how much fun we had.”

“You had lots of fun too,” Madpat chuckled.

“Can you blame me?” Shawn smiled. “Disney World is awesome! _Way_ better than Bendy Land was gonna be. Part of me wonders if I should have gone to work for Mr. Disney instead. Ugh... he had such an inspiring story. And at least he didn’t get into as much financial trouble as Mr. Drew did. I swear we had mob money running into that studio at some point...”

“Sounds dangerous,” Madpat said as they entered their hotel.

“Welcome back, boys!” The lady at the front desk greeted them.

“Hey, Sally,” both egos chorused with a smile.

They had decided to stay at a Disney resort, and Madpat hadn’t been able to resist springing for an expensive villa. Well, it was mostly due to Shawn asking for one. Shawn had gotten a taste for the finer things in life after their escape and now he wanted more. Madpat couldn’t help but indulge him. The Irishman hadn’t had much in his life before...

“I almost don’t wanna go back,” Shawn said as they walked into their villa. “I wanna stay here forever!”

“You’d get tired of it,” Madpat said as he set the bags down on a nearby table. “It’s great until the novelty’s worn off, then you start noticing the weather and the crowds and how often the rides break down.”

“I wouldn’t get tired of it,” Shawn folded his arms.

“And you’d get fat,” Madpat said. “Disney food is delicious, but it’s not the healthiest...”

Shawn seemed to think about that for a moment as he set his pocket watch on the coffee table.

“But I’d be fat _and_ happy,” he said.

“And I’m sure you’d still be smiling when your heart finally gives out and you drop dead,” said Madpat. He paused. “Although... I heard if you die on Disney property, your family gets free lifetime passes, so...”

He gave Shawn a contemplative look and the Irishman huffed.

“You are not killing me for free passes,” he said. “Fine, we’ll go back home and come back another time.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Madpat swiped Shawn’s hat and ruffled his hair. “We can come back for one of their holiday parties.”

Shawn bat at Madpat’s hands and smoothed his hair back out.

“Well, if this is our last day here, I wanna check out the gift shop downstairs. You want me to bring anything back for you?” He asked.

“Nah, I’m gonna rest my feet,” Madpat sat down and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “I think got a blister...”

“Your loss,” Shawn shrugged. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Shawn took the elevator down to the ground floor and head over to the little shop he’d seen before. It wasn’t much, just your typical gift shop selling shirts and toys and other little souvenirs. Shawn already had started a pretty good collection of Disney shirts, but he wouldn’t mind getting one or two more.

He was digging for his size on a rack when he felt his ink suddenly began to vibrate. It only did that when it sensed danger...

“Huh?” Shawn said softly, pressing a hand to his chest. “What’s the matter?”

The vibrations then moved, centering on a single part of Shawn’s body, indicating which direction he needed to look in. Shawn did so in a way that didn’t look too suspicious. He didn’t see anything-

There.

It was another ego, Shawn could tell. It looked like the butler back at the house. But why was his ink so nervous about him? His ink began to vibrate harder and harder just below his skin, urging him to move. The only problem was that the ego was hanging by the shop’s only exit...

Shawn took a moment to think. He had to move fast if his ink was correct, and it usually was. It sensed things that Shawn couldn’t, so it must have sensed bad news from this ego.

Shawn then slowly moved to a corner of the shop that was a bit cluttered with multiple displays. He hid between two of them and sighed. He didn’t have his pocket watch with him, but he had s trick up his sleeve. The trick was new and one he was still working on perfecting. He could only hope it would work...

Shawn took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He focused his magic and his ink and then unleashed it.

By the time the other ego made it to the corner he’d seen Shawn walk over to, there was nothing there except for an ink stain on the carpet.

Shawn collapsed against the wall as the elevator began to move. He could feel his body still reforming from the ink he'd turned himself into. His little trick had worked, but it had drained him pretty badly. Still, he couldn’t stop to rest. He had to get back to their room. The elevator doors opened, and Shawn stumbled down the hall as fast as he could. He managed to get the door to their room opened and quickly locked it behind him.

“Shawn?” Madpat looked up. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

“Pack everything up,” Shawn said. “We have to go now.”

“What happened?” Madpat helped Shawn sit down in a chair.

“I don’t know,” Shawn shook his head. “There was an ego down there, but my ink says he’s bad news. He might be after us.”

Madpat’s eyes widened at Shawn’s words. Another dangerous ego? He remembered The Actor and shuddered.

“Sit here and catch your breath,” he said. “I’ll get everything together and then we’ll leave. We can tell Dark when we get back...”

Shawn nodded and watched Madpat move about quickly. What was going on...?

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this story, please comment! Comments motivate me and give me life!


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